Demons Within
by JabberjayHeart
Summary: "When two worlds collide, only one will survive." Welcome to the 140th Hunger Games!
1. Seven Devils Part One

**Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine.**

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**Seven Devils Part One.**

_I don't want your money, I don't want your crown. See I've come to burn your kingdom down._

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**Demons Within - The 140th Hunger Games.**

**Pippin Halland, District Eight Victor.**

* * *

I swallow thickly, feeling the pressure build behind my eyes. Everything inside of me is screaming to run and hide, to never return to this place and just stick to the mere comfort I have left. Yet, I step through the doorway into the dimly-lit room.

Darek looks up from his papers with a smile. "Pip."

Butterflies burst in my chest. "Darek," I answer quietly, scanning the room. "No Chiffon?"

"Sweeping the area for bugs," he smiles, patting the seat next to him. Without question, I take it, feeling the sickness subside for a brief moment until I look at the papers, and it only multiplies in my stomach. "Oh. Oh, Pip, are you sure you still want to do this?"

I nod slowly. No, I'm not sure. "Yeah."

I couldn't say no, not when Darek was full of ideas and hope, a fire in his eyes that I hadn't seen in a while. Then Chiffon joined, and backing out seemed like the hardest thing in the world to accomplish. Chiffon soon returns. "Clear," she smiles. "Evening, Pippie."

"Evening." I grace the older lady gently, placing my hands together in my lap as she walks by. For them, I'll try. For the boy who saved me, and the woman who protected me.

We fall into a small discussion over plans. I keep zoning out, desperation playing tricks on my mind, until the mere mention of her name sends a shiver down my spine.

"She's getting elderly," Chiffon says. "I can't see her holding up much longer."

"I heard reptiles tend to live for hundreds of years, Chiff," Darek scowls, bitterness being brought up as I remember the time Darek stumbled upon the letter Esmeralda Snow had wrote to me, commanding my presence at her gala. "But if we wait for her death, then it could be ages away. Too many more will die."

"We don't even have the numbers yet."

"We can work for them. I have a few secured already." Darek only challenges, fire radiating from his every fibre. It's warm. Times like these that I like Darek for everything else, not just the comfort and safety he provides me.

Chiffon sighs. "Who? We have to be careful around Districts One and Two. Even Four, with that harlot Odyessa."

"District Five," Darek states proudly. When Chiffon narrows her eyes, Darek looks away. "...Ellery..."

"Who?"

It's Darek's turn to sigh now. "I said Ellery. As in Ellery Haynes."

Ellery is trouble. Well, not so much trouble as in people often avoid her. My run-in with her was less than pleasant, especially when she pointed out that physically, I've matured, but mentally, I'm a scared boy whose fear is clear. She nailed it. Despite being thirty-five, I still feel like the trapped fourteen-year-old who tried to kill himself, only to have someone burn, mark and clean his skin over and over until he answered questions.

"Oh great. Her." Chiffon grimaces. "At least she's obnoxious enough to not back down. We need fighters, I suppose. Anyone else?"

"Arjan, the boy that won last year," Darek nods. "It wasn't hard. His anger is pretty well-known. With him means an ally in District Three as well."

"And we still have Nicolet working undercover, right?"

Darek nods. "And Spruce and Maple are keen to join in, considering the experiences they've had over the years. So congratulations on that one, Chiffon." he smiles.

Over the last year or so, Darek and Chiffon have been sneakily talking to other Victors, sowing the seeds of rebellion. This time, though, they want someone from each district. As many allies as possible to overrule the President. If every district says no, what can she do?

I swallow thickly; she can do everything though. She won't let anyone walk over her, even at her age.

Darek jots down the final names to the list. Turns out that, when you look at it, our rebellion gathering is small. Only one or two Victors here and there, and not even every district. But Darek reckons it's better that way. There's some truth in that, though. Too many is too obvious. Small numbers means privacy and surprise.

I scan over the list myself:

_Arjan Kozart, District Three._  
_Ellery Haynes, District Five._  
_Zeke Wallace, District Five._  
_Spruce Groven, District Seven._  
_Maple Palmer, District Seven._  
_Nicolet Aryth, District Nine._  
_Topher Starling, District Nine._  
_Gypsy Morquin, District Eleven._

"I'm still working on Serena Pierce." Darek adds.

"I'll coin Lorcan if he's ever fully with it," Chiffon joins. Lorcan's mental breakdown two years ago was an ugly one. Everyone knew that depression was taking him. But no-one knew just how deep it did. When I heard, I cried. Not because I knew Lorcan, but because I could feel it happening to me too. I could feel my own stomach eating himself day in, day out. "What about you, Pip?"

My eyes widen. "Oh... um, I haven't been able to reach Saskia yet..."

Chiffon frowns. "Did Crispin not let you?"

"He said she couldn't cope with it all at the moment," I smile sadly, but half-grateful. I was in her shoes once, unable to cope. But the weight on her shoulder is far greater. "Something about too many people looking too similar."

He basically implied that she couldn't face seeing murderers. With her first year of mentoring going down the drain - both District Twelve tributes dying seconds after the other - she'll no doubt say no to the idea.

"We need to think of Careers..." Darek ponders, running his pen over the table. The city noise below fills the silence, car horns and music blaring from every suite and apartment around us. "What about Amity?"

"Risqué," Chiffon frowns. "Could be a yes, could be a no. As far as District Two is concerned, it's not worth it."

Darek pauses. "But... but we need someone from everywhere. It won't work otherwise."

"I understand that, Darek, I really do. But Careers? In my time, the fragile Careers tend to kill themselves or shun the world," she frowns. "You saw what happened to Diamond from One. And that mentally unstable Lennox burned himself. And sweet, sweet Annie."

Darek slams his fist against the table angrily. "We have to work through this! If the President can see a unity between districts properly this time, not just District Two messing around, then we can change things! Pippin," I hum, stomach swirling. "I need you to push harder with Saskia."

That's what they said last time, and look what happened... the Victors were executed without question. I shrink into my seat, violent thoughts on gunshots and blood... no, no!

"Pippin?"

I feel sick. "...sorry..."

Darek's concerned eyes don't leave mine though. "Are you okay?"

No, I'm never going to be okay. Just when I feel safe and not afraid, they take me away again under new orders. Doesn't Darek realise this? Any whisper of a rebellion, and they haul me to the Capitol for a new bout of torture. It's as if they know District Eight will be behind the next one. "...m'fine..." I stand, head spinning and sweat trickling down my spine. "I... I need fresh air..."

I burst out of the room and up the stairs, feet and knees scraping against the concrete in my desperation. I need air. I need... oxygen... freedom... the walls, they're closing in on me...

The door swings open and I run for the edge of the building, feeling the wind lash against my raw cheeks and stinging eyes. My feet pause at the cliff of the building, though, glued in place.

It'd be so easy. To jump, to escape the future that's been chosen for me. Darek isn't using me, I know that, but it's like I feel like I owe him this. It's like I can't say no. He mentored me. Saved me as a child before that. Doesn't he deserve my help in his crazy, hair-brained scheme?

My foot slips off the edge, shoe squeaking as my body tumbles forwards.

But then a hand grabs my shirt and as quick as I'm ready to accept death, I'm quick to throw myself against the floor and avoid Darek's no doubt hurtful eyes.

"Pippin! What are you thinking?"

I want to scream _"That it'd be easier!" _but it comes out as a choked sob instead. He pulls me against his side, allowing me to pour my emotions into his shirt.

I'll never tell him. One day, I'll succeed, and Darek won't be able to stop me.

* * *

There's a knock on the door that makes Darek rise quickly, fear evident in his face. He gently peels the door back to reveal Nicolet Aryth from District Nine, whose face is less than pleased.

"Is there a reason why I was asked to search the hallway, Darek?"

"Tracking devices or cameras," Darek mentions with a brief smile. "You know, Esmeralda-esque things. At least you listened this time and didn't ignore me."

She smirks, before falling down onto the couch opposite me ungraciously. Darek and her are reasonable friends. With a year apart in victory, it's no wonder that they're more accustomed to each other than most Victors are. "And is there a reason why we're all the way out in here, in the Capitol?"

"Least suspected. Rebel in their own city? That's garbage." he nods proudly.

No-one tracks Victors in the Capitol. We come and go here as we please. I only come here when I'm forced. People like Nicolet have reasons, one being Mr X.

After small talk is done, Nicolet hands over some notes to Darek. "What's this?"

"Information on the arena," she answers dryly. "You requested them."

"I di-"

"I did." I speak up.

They both look at me like I'm stupid. But truth is, I want to be more useful. Nicolet has the advantage every year with her information. She can plan and prepare. I smile awkwardly. "You." Nicolet deadpans.

"Me," I shrug. "Sorry. I just... I thought it'd be a good idea as a trust thing. Like, show Amity or Aphrodite or someone the information to gain their trust, then they might join the rebellion more freely."

But I'm thinking of Saskia. This will be her second chance. I can actually help someone, rather than be helped. I can make Saskia feel at ease with outside information. That, and if I can make friends, she might join the rebellion that Darek has so carefully constructed and planned with his heart.

Darek's lips break out into a grin. "You're a genius, Pip."

Even Nicolet smirks briefly. "You're really something else."

The words push away the bad thoughts for a moment, reminding me of simpler times. I'm not just useless. I can be something. And for Darek, I'll be anything I can be.

* * *

**This is the seventh instalment to the EsmeraldaVerse. If you are unfamiliar as to why we are at this stage, please look on my profile at the EsmeraldaVerse prologue to understand. If you want, there's a blog for the EsmeraldaVerse Victors called Collection of the Damned.**

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**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

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**Okay, so this is the set-up to the end, if that makes sense.**

**The submission is deadline is 7th MARCH of which it'll be closed and it'll be too late for you to send anyone in. The day after, I will post the second part of this prologue with a list, and start to reply to people for confirmation/declination. Please remember to not take this personally.**

**All spots are open. No-one is certain. **

**You can send in more than one character if you wish, but only one will be accepted.**

**The form is on my profile. And speaking of profile, I will be placing a list on there as to how many submissions I have for each gender. Underneath the form will be a set of rules. You're advised to read these rules before creating - any character who breaks the rules is instantly declined.**

**This goes without saying I guess, but there's always that one person... PM only. Seriously.**

**Oh, and a review on this chapter wouldn't go amiss. ;) **


	2. Seven Devils Part Two

**Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine.**

* * *

**Seven Devils Part Two.**

_I don't want your money, I don't want your crown. See I've come to burn your kingdom down._

* * *

**Demons Within - The 140th Hunger Games.**

**Pippin Halland, District Eight Victor.**

* * *

Sitting on the stairs, I watch as the letter comes through the door, the sound deafening around my stale home. I blink a few times as it hits the carpet. My entire body does a flip, fearful of what she wants from me now. Everything inside of me wants to scream and cry, but I force myself onto my feet and retrieve it.

"Morning Pippin!" Darek's voice comes loud and clear, more sprightly than normal.

I flinch though, gripping the letter. He's suddenly next to me and I can feel how stiff he becomes, the air becoming thick. "She... she sent something..." I whisper.

Gently, Darek pries my fingers from the crisp envelope and opens it himself. I watch his face carefully, and when he doesn't look immediately disgusted or angry, I take that as a good sign. "It's a gala," he answers, followed by a heavy breath. "Someone from every district must attend. She wants you, Pip."

"Of course she does." I mumble, eyes falling to the floor.

"Hey, it's okay. It doesn't say that more than one can't attend." I look up, seeing his warm smile once more. "I'll come with you. Heck, Chiffon might too. It'll be a great way to talk to the other Victors, fill in the gaps and whatnot."

We're still missing Districts One, Two and Four, Six, Ten, and Twelve. We're halfway. I should feel happy that we're halfway there, but it only leaves a bottomless pit in my chest that makes me constantly sick to my stomach. "I know."

"We'll work on Serena and Lorcan some more. And you work on Saskia. That only leaves us the Career districts to worry about," he smiles, but it falls when he notices the frown that I will away with all my might, but just can't do. "Hey, it's okay. Don't stress about it. Your plan with Nicolet was bulletproof. Some great leverage, if you ask me."

I feel better about that. I guess, in a way, it's about helping Saskia rather than her helping us. I remember my first time mentoring, and how I felt depressed the entire time. It was like that for a few years... well, it's still like that now sometimes... but this time, I can help her.

I can save someone.

* * *

The room is large and tables line every wall, doused in food and drink and plenty of hungry Capitolites. Some are them are very important. When I walk past Chancellor Abeforth, I feel sick to my stomach, remembering his forceful advances too well. He had a putrid smell to him too.

I pat my breast pocket, feeling the paper. It's a twisted sort of relief. It's one of the only things that's keeping me completely sane at the moment.

Chiffon parts from the group when she notices Lorcan and Aston from District Six. And then Darek turns, coy smile. "I see Serena. I have to move now, before it's too late."

"...too late?"

"I want her alone. It's easier that way. Then, it's her call from there." he steps forward, placing his hands on my cheeks and forcing me to look at him. I shiver a little, the touch supposedly nice but only stirring up the way the interrogator would grab me by the hair or face, yelling and shouting. "Just do your best. Saskia is over in that corner."

I turn, seeing the blonde hair teenager pressed against the wall, looking fearful. I swallow thickly. "Thanks. And good luck, I guess."

Darek leaves quickly when Serena is left alone with just her drink. I fumble around for a moment, debating on the best way of approaching Saskia without scaring her, or myself for that matter. Just the thought of doing this makes my head spin.

_You can do this, Pip. You won the Hunger Games. You've survived countless torture methods, "talks", interrogations. Talking to a fragile Victor should be a breeze._

"You said that aloud, you know," I almost scream, spinning around. Nicolet smiles briefly, jerking her head. "Go on, get a move on. I didn't waste my time to get that information for nothing."

"Easier said than done."

Her eyes narrow. "Let me come with you then."

I bite my lip. Nicolet isn't... sympathetic, really. She's nice, sure, and kind when she wants to be, but her brisk attitude can be daunting to the new Victors. Then again, why am I better? I'm not. I'm really, really not. I'm the future for Saskia unless she manages to pull herself together. "It's not... it's not really necessary."

"Oh well."

My eyes widen as Nicolet grabs my wrist, yanking me towards the far back. We pass other Victors that look suspicious - particularly Kane Swallow, who practically laughs and makes a joke about a dog and a lead - before reaching Saskia. When she sees us, her eyes widen.

"Look. We get it," Nicolet begins and I want to roll my eyes, but I'm captivated by the deer-in-the-headlights that Saskia seems to have. "You're scared. Traumatized even. It's understandable considering you won, then watched two more children die. But this is your life now. Sure, it's not great, but would you rather be in a coffin?"

Saskia blinks. I press myself against the table, gripping it with dear life. I let out a shaky breath, feeling my insides burst into fire.

"Precisely. It's better to be alive then be dead," she continues. "But the thing is, don't you want to feel better about yourself? Don't you want to, I don't know, live without fear?"

Saskia manages a tight nod.

"Then here," she elbows me, almost sending me to the floor sprawling. I grit my teeth, staring at her hard, the first once of annoyance I've felt in years. Maybe it's a good sign. "Pippin, hand her the info."

I dig for the paperwork and hand it out to her. Her bright eyes flick from my hand to my face, before she gently takes it. "...what's this?" she asks, her voice angelic.

"Arena details. Fire. Brimstone. Just read it. Think of it as a welcoming present. As bad as we all are, we're friends, in a weird way. We can relate, and help you. Even the Careers aren't scary when you realise their darkest secrets or personalities." Nicolet smiles. "Right, I've wasted enough of my own time. I need a drink. Good luck, the pair of you."

Saskia looks up. "...you're Pippin Halland, right?"

I nod, swallowing the ever-growing lump. "Yeah. Saskia Rossum?"

She smiles softly. "I... Crispin mentioned you wanted to speak to me. I'm sorry I... I was just-"

"Emotional. It's okay, I understand," I smile brighter, my sympathy and similar situation making it easier to talk to her because she understands better. The others can only relate so far... but Saskia has probably been there and back a few times. "It's just..."

"It's just?" she clutches the paper, knuckles ghosting white.

My stomach knots together. "Never mind," I breathe. "I just wanted to see how you were," I lie. I can't drag her into this. No matter what Darek says, she's just not emotionally prepared for it at all. Neither am I. "It was nice meeting you, Saskia."

"And you." she smiles softly before I walk away.

For the rest of the evening, I avoid Darek and Chiffon, ashamed that I couldn't go through with it.

* * *

"I got Serena," Darek says when we're back on the train, two days away from the Reapings. "It wasn't hard really. After a bit of talking and wine, she told me of her brief drug problem that required a lot of help. Turns out that she wants revenge as much as I thought," he states proudly as he takes his drink. "I think... I don't want to jinx it or anything, but I think we have a better chance this time."

Chiffon enters. "Oh, did I hear right? Did you talk to Serena?"

"District Ten are in!"

"Wonderful," Chiffon smiles as she takes her seat, pulling back the violet dress so she can sit properly. I smile kindly when she looks over. "Well, Lorcan wasn't hard either. After mentioning it, he joined almost straight away. And then he told Aston..."

Darek's eyes widen. "And?"

"And Aston agreed to it too, as long as Constance never finds out. Apparently, she'd imprison them both for being reckless and endangering everyone."

My stomach turns. They both succeeded? And I didn't even bother. Useless, that's what I am. I might've possibly saved Saskia, but I did nothing for the cause. I sink against the seat when they both turn to me. "Saskia?" Darek asks, voice of hope.

I bite my lip. "I..." but end up just shaking my head instead.

Darek sighs, adding the new three names to the list:

_Lorcan Trump, District Six._  
_Aston Moray, District Six._  
_Serena Pierce, District Ten._

"Just the Careers left."

Everyone falls silent. I rise, leaving the room when Darek and Chiffon want to discuss ideas. They don't bother me, not after last time. I thought they'd be protective, but they know that sometimes, I just need space. I can't be smothered and watched forever.

But every time I try and wind down, I go back to Saskia, and the brief swelling in my heart when I realised that I might actually have helped her. Her eyes looked so grateful when she accepted the arena information. With that, she might be able to save a tribute, or at least get them past the bloodbath unscathed.

It will help, I keep telling myself. Even I know what to prepare for this time. I try to let the hope flutter in my chest, even if it's false or not.

Fire. Brimstone.

_When two worlds collide, only one will survive._

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**Expect the reapings between seven-ten days, and hopefully, one update a week should go to plan to get through pre-Games a lot quicker! Whichever day I update will be the weekly date.**

**Here, however, are your wonderful tributes for this story and underneath, information and such, like the blog and everything.**

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**List Of Tributes.**

**District One - Luxury.**

Male: Jet Rinehart, 18.

Female: Saraide Thalassa, 18.

**District Two - Masonry.**

Male: Dorian Lamotte, 18.

Female: Daira Lamotte, 16.

**District Three - Technology.**

Male: Cosmo Fleming, 17.

Female: Ancyra Chepstow, 15.

**District Four - Fishing.**

Male: Claudio Saxon, 18.

Female: Indra Marella, 18.

**District Five - Power.**

Male: Uriah Quick, 15.

Female: Lumina Moseley, 16.

**District Six - Transportation.**

Male: Morgan Vos, 17.

Female: Britannia Bucker, 18.

**District Seven - Lumber.**

Male: Lyndon Marrett, 16.

Female: Quilow Sage, 16.

**District Eight - Textiles.**

Male: Seth Patreli, 14.

Female: Amery Caulan, 15.

**District Nine - Grain.**

Male: Kalle Ramsey, 17.

Female: Athalie Ivers, 18.

**District Ten - Livestock.**

Male: Josiah Kirsche, 18.

Female: Merona Rosales, 15.

**District Eleven - Agriculture.**

Male: Kai Clematis, 18.

Female: Elena Cortez, 15.

**District Twelve - Coal.**

Male: Draconis Cor, 17.

Female: Anastasia Marrel, 17.

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**The blog for this story is_ demonswithin hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who are your favourite tributes from just a simple, first impression look at the blog? As in biased, judged impressions?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

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**These are your tributes this year. You can go look at the blog, it's finally up!**

**At this point in time, I've only messaged the people who got accepted. If you're reading this and don't see the name of your tribute, then you have no idea how truly sorry I am. I can only accept twenty-four, and I need both a diversity of characters and ones that I can see futures and plots with. **

**You will get your message from me soon, I promise, just please be patient. The least you all deserve is some sort of response and reasoning and I will accomplish that, it just might take me some time to filter through the messages and respond to 50 odd people.**

**And just remember: there's still another SYOT on the horizon from me.**

**But for now... Welcome to Demons Within!**


	3. Youth

**Youth by Foxes.**

* * *

**Youth.**

_Don't tell me our youth is running out. It's only just begun._

* * *

**Amethyst Noble, District One Female.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty-Third Victor.**

* * *

When I step out of the meeting room, Carnelian is already at the doors, patiently waiting for them to open. He must be nervous again. I smile slightly, stepping towards him.

"Morning Carnelian," I place my hand on his arm, getting him to turn. "You'll be fine, you know."

"I know." he answers, a brief smile that doesn't do him justice.

I leave it at that. The main thing to know about Carnelian is that, whilst he's a wonderful person, he tends to believe he has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He doesn't. If only someone could get that through to him.

The doors slide open, and light seeps in. I force the fake smile onto my face and raise my hand, waving as we both step out onto the stage. Carnelian quickly heads to his seat, taking it and offering me the one to his left.

When I sit down, he leans closer. "I'm sorry if I'm coming across as rude," he says warmly. "I'm just... I'm focused on what I can do for the volunteers."

"I understand, I do. But you don't have to deal with this alone. It's better to speak, than suffer in silence." I recite the words that Aphrodite echoed to me, not long after I left the arena and couldn't cope with the reality of it all.

My arena was pure darkness. To this day, I still don't know what the roaming Mutts looked like, or why the air felt tense, or even the hourly screams that drowned out my own. It's all unknown, and I can't help but appreciate it.

I don't want to know. I can't cope knowing. In that state of feeling powerless, I murdered my own district partner, and a twelve-year-old girl, all because the darkness was destroying me.

"I know. And thank you, Amethyst, for understanding. But I am fine. I just want to do what's best for Saraide and Jet." Carnelian answers.

I leave it at that. I smile kindly, and turn back into my seat, just as the escort mounts the stage. We sit in silence and listen to the Treaty of Treason, before the video promotion of the Dark Days, and then the Mockingjay Rebellion that killed most of our Victors.

I hate it all. I don't want to be here, on this stage, staring out at hopeful, deluded eyes. I've barely coped myself, let alone the responsibility of another. I start to fidget in my seat as the escort plucks the first slip, and the booming voice follows.

"I volunteer!"

That's Jet. I've worked with him for the past year. I swallow thickly, seeing him move through the parted crowd, a broad smile on his chiselled face. He ruffles his blonde hair as he takes to the stage.

"Jet Rinehart." he smiles into the microphone.

When the escort collects the next slip, I feel Carnelian's hand slide into mine. I smile at the warmth; like a flame chasing away the shadows inside of me.

The escort doesn't even get the chance to open the slip. Saraide Thalassa is already on top of us, standing at the bottom of the steps. Her wide eyes stare up at me as she mounts the stage. She looks so... lost. But, she takes the microphone, sliding past Jet's frowning form.

"Saraide Thalassa," she states coolly. "Your female tribute."

She places the microphone back, offers a hand to Jet which he takes hesitantly, before standing ramrod straight. I eye the pair of them, two different demeanours. Carnelian squeezes my hand even tighter at that. They call me a Career, but truthfully, I feel more like a victim every day.

"We've got it this year, I just know it. I feel it in my gut."

I would say the same, but I'm not as hopeful. I've seen too many people die to place hope in even the best of trainees. I'll do my best, but it just won't be enough for what will come.

* * *

**Cadmus Rhodes, District Two Male.**  
**One Hundred and Thirtieth Victor**.

* * *

The howling wind blows at my back. I bend over, placing the slightly wilted roses onto his grave. _Cres Rhodes, Forever a Brother _is carved into the granite. I run my finger over the grooves, feeling my chest swell in sadness.

It's been twenty years today.

This time, twenty years ago, he kissed my forehead and volunteered his life away. He promised me that he would return. That he'd win, and he'd buy me all the toys I wanted, and show me all the things I've ever wanted to see. But he broke his promise. He never did come home.

"He would've been proud of you." I turn at the voice, seeing Saffron standing a few metres away, a heavy fur coat over her shoulders.

I smile fondly at that. "That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Sentiments are pointless, but I thought you could do with them right now."

"I'm taking it for what it is," I nod. "Thank you, Saffron."

She briefly smiles, before turning away. "You better hurry."

I turn back to my brother's grave, kissing two fingers and pressing them against the cool stone. I did it for him, after all. I did the one thing that he never got to accomplish. I'm sure he would be proud.

Leaving behind the memories and the flowers, I compose myself, before catching up to Saffron halfway. She doesn't say anything - and for once, I'm grateful for her lack of coldness. It's usually comforting, in a twisted sense, but I just can't handle it today. I feel like anything could set me off.

We take our seats. Saffron pulls the work into her lap, re-reading over our volunteers, Carver Nix and Daira Lamotte. Carver is cruel and unforgiving. Daira is wild, with a wicked aim. They are two of our best.

Tarzana wasn't going to be short this year.

Eventually, the escort makes his way to the microphone, two slips tucked in each hand. He doesn't even need to bother; every year is the same. When his breath ghosts over the microphone, and he barely utters the word 'female', Daira's voice hollers into the air. I've known it too well over the last year. It's sultry, but also irritating, like a hot but whiny teenager.

Daira comes charging up the steps, grinning proud at herself. "Daira Lamotte," she whispers into the microphone. "And your next Victor." she adds with a wink.

The escort scoffs, before repeating the process. The voice that comes, though, isn't Carver.

Daira's face falls.

Saffron leans up in her seat, curious. "This should be interesting." she mutters.

The tall boy comes forward fast, hair quaffed and eyes burning with desire. When I finally see him properly, my heart plummets into my chest. Daira's brother? Volunteering against her?

Daira's shock turns into disgust, and by the time he's on the stage, she's furious.

"What the fuck are you doing, Dorian?!"

I feel sick. Her brother - apparently Dorian - looks calm but bewildered, staring around at everyone. He accepts the microphone from the escort, staring at Daira as he says, "I'm Dorian Lamotte, and I volunteer as tribute alongside my little sister."

A quiet hush falls upon the Square. No-one says anything. Blood pounds behind my eyes, thumping again and again.

The escort gently steps in between them, prying the microphone from Dorian's hands. He doesn't stop staring at his sister, and Daira doesn't stop scowling.

Their parents must be worried. Why would any siblings go against each other? It's just not right. The sickness quickly turns into annoyance, fire pumping through my veins. I'd do anything for my brother, to have him here with me! Why compete against each other when one will die?

Saffron hums. "Cadmus, calm down," she says sternly. "I have better things to do than deal with an emotional man-child."

I turn, a little aggravated. "You were only complimenting me moments ago." I hiss, as Daira and Dorian awkwardly shake hands.

Saffron nods. "I know," she stands up, tucking the files into her fur coat pocket once more. "But I assumed it would help you. This, obviously, has only dug your hole deeper. I can't help you with that. I'm no therapist."

"Not like you'd make a good one anyway." I grumble.

Daira and Dorian eventually enter the Justice Building, and seconds later, two adults storm inside. Saffron sighs and follows.

I can't do this. These two? They don't deserve each other. I shake my own head; I have to put my feelings aside and bring one of them home, even if personally, I believe neither should.

* * *

**Arjan Kozart, District Three Male.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty-Ninth Victor.**

* * *

The sound of muted clapping catches my attention.

"Is that for me?" I stand, an amused smile on my lips.

"That is for you," Pixel answers sweetly, standing in front of the window. "You saved these people, Arjan. That's something you should always be proud of."

I step by my smaller mentor, staring out the dusty window. People line every inch of the Square, from the children to their parents and adults. And every one of them looks as if they're clapping. My mood lifts at that. "I never realised they cared so much."

"You're their Victor. No matter what you did, you gave them a chance to survive for another year," Pixel continues, tightening her grip on Mercury's infamous notepad. "You should take it as a blessing. Not everyone gets such a warm welcome."

The nerves melt away as we leave the building, Pixel's arm laced through mine.

The door opens, and the muted clapping turns louder, lifting my spirits higher and higher until I pump my fist in the air, gaining a cheer from the once-passive District Three. The grin on my face doesn't even feel forced.

Pixel laughs as I pull out her seat. "They like you, you know," I take my own seat, keeping close to her. Pixel is sweet, but she's also fragile. "They... they relate better to you than they ever did with us."

"I don't know why. I'm just a mechanic. A Victor." I shrug.

Pixel smiles knowingly, opening the pad and clicking the pen. "And that's exactly why, Arj."

Unlike most District Three tributes, I was the difference. I didn't play the game exactly. I wasn't smart or resourceful. I didn't attempt to overthink the trials of the junkyard, following the clues through traps for more rations. I stayed put. I waited, and defended. And I don't feel sad or guilty. My only two kills were Careers. I never had an ally that I loved and lost. For me, the experience was hard, but not something I want to spend more time on than needed.

The promotional video zooms by, and before I know it, the escort taps the microphone. My eyes fall on the pale slip in her hand. My breath hitches; this'll be my first time on this end. How do I act? Do I look mournful, and clap sadly? I shuffle awkwardly, staring down at the scrawls on Pixel's pad.

"...Ancyra Chepstow!"

Wait, what?

I try to find the girl, hastily scanning the area. But it's too late. A girl with short, black hair moves from the crowd, a look of sadness on her face. Her bright, watery eyes stare up at me as she walks forward, mounting the steps slowly. Her lips crook into a sombre smile, a look of acceptance.

I swallow thickly, looking anywhere but her hurtful eyes. I feel like she's just placed all of her life onto mine already.

"...Cosmo Fleming!"

The name makes something in my head click. He sounds... familiar. I look out the corner of my eye, just in time to see Cosmo climb the steps, a shade of ghostly white. Once he faces Ancyra, his lips peel into a twisted smile. "It's nice to meet you!" he practically shouts, grasping her hand and shaking it violently.

Pixel mutters something. "What was that, Pix?"

"I think I'll take him," she repeats, a soft smile on her lips. "You can take Ancyra. I think she's taken a liking to you already."

When I look back at Ancyra, through the tears and permanent frown, I see a glowing appreciation in her eyes. I smile awkwardly, looking to the side once more.

I can already feel the pressure. She wants me to save her. To help her. I don't even know what I'm doing, or how any of this works. And yet, I feel compelled to save her because she's my tribute, I'm her mentor, that's how it works, isn't it?

I run a hand through my curly hair. "This is going to be hard, isn't it?"

Pixel smiles sadly. "You'll soon learn why most Victors resort to drugs, drink, or even suicide. It's no walk in the park, Arjan. But I have complete faith in you."

I'm glad someone does, because I sure as hell don't.

* * *

**Mirth Lockman, District Four Male.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty-Sixth Victor.**

* * *

The door opens hurriedly, slamming against the wall. I don't even need to open my eyes to know who it is. The air turns cold around her presence at any chance.

"What can I help you with, Odyessa?" I smirk, peeling an eye open. She doesn't look too impressed, hands on her hips.

"You're my only hope, and you're a heartless creature." Odyessa replies icily.

I smirk even wider at that. "Takes one to know one, lady," I stretch my arms, leaning up in the chair. "Can I ask who poked you with a stick through the cage bars last night? You seem even nastier than I thought possible."

"I'm not in the mood for your sass, Lockman," she growls, jabbing her finger at the door. "Get out there and show District Four that we're not all lazy beach bums like Creek or Gemini. That, with some productivity, we can be Careers."

I raise my hands in the air. "It's not my job to train the hopeless. You took that responsibility, not me. I simply took advantage of your bitter kindness." I wink, choosing to stand in case she bears her teeth at me like a feral animal.

Even with age, Odyessa remains the same. I mean, she's like, what, fifty? You'd never guess that. She wants to maim anyone who doesn't live up to her standard. I'm surprised Octavian has lasted so long.

"Just... just go." she growls.

Still smiling, I strut past her and down the hallway, ignoring her fast-paced footsteps behind me. I push the doors open and stare at the crowd below, all of whom seem to fall silent as they stare back at me.

They remind me of the tributes who met me in the blizzard, the ones who only saw a furry hood and a blinding machete as it came for their neck. Five kills is impressive in harsh conditions, if I do say so myself. But it scared the little kids in the district. I'm a monster, apparently. What they don't realise, though, is that every other Victor is the same, just some hide behind their "innocence" and "kindness".

At least I don't pretend to be something I'm not.

I fall down into my seat, Odyessa grumbling as she sits next to me.

"Who are our volunteers, if we even have any?" I tease, probing for Odyessa's potential outburst.

Odyessa scoffs. "Like I care. None of them will do good anyway."

"Age has made you cynical." I continue with a smile.

"Age has made me wise," she turns, eyes ablaze. "Victory has made you insufferable."

I open my mouth to answer, but I'm instantly cut off by the escort. "District Four!" she sings into the microphone, a shrill, wailing sound. I turn, grimacing. Her again? She needs to be put down like a wounded animal. "I'm here to announce your mermaid and sea prince!"

Internally, I vomit.

The escort makes her way towards the female bowl first. Her breath barely ghosts over the microphone, before I see the head of a running figure. Odyessa leans up in her seat, definitely interested.

When she arrives on stage, she practically snatches the microphone from the escort's hand. "Indra Marella." she breaths, smiling with full lips.

The escort snatches the microphone back, lips pursed. She doesn't waste any time in trying to rectify the mistake that is Indra's attitude. Like last time, she doesn't get to say a single word. The hand shoots up into the air, silencing her.

I can't help but snort. The hand moves, turning into a rather defined guy, a tightened look on his face. He looks vaguely familiar. He accepts the microphone from the downtrodden escort, smiling apologetically.

"Claudio Saxon." he says, before offering it back.

The escort looks uplifted at that. Damn. "District Four, your tributes!" she screams.

Over the array of raptous applause, Odyessa turns, a wicked expression on her face. I know that look. "Great," I roll my eyes. "You've already picked, haven't you? I bet it's the giantess over there."

"Nope. She's yours. Claudio is mine."

A lightbulb goes off in my head. "He's your next prodigy, isn't he?"

She doesn't answer, but the knowing smile says it all. Odyessa, at some point in the last year, found herself another pet project to train. Let's hope he's worth it, otherwise I might as well get the needle to sedate Odyessa with now.

* * *

**Solar Develo, District Five Male.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty-Seventh Victor.**

* * *

"I believe you're wrong." Nebula crosses her arms, leaning into the chair.

I snort. "I've never been wrong before," I smile. "I managed to utilise my intelligence into actual explosives. You made traps, Nebula, that's hardly a science to be proud of."

"My traps allowed me to kill without physically touching someone."

"Likewise." I smirk, leaning forward.

"You two are perfect for each other," Ellery cuts in, voice laced in sarcasm. "And that's why I hate the pair of you with every fibre in my body."

Ellery abruptly stands, leaving the stage without a single goodbye.

"Well that was rude." Nebula grumbles.

I nod. "For once, I have to agree with you," I turn to Nebula, who moves her hair out of her eyes. "We'll have to agree to disagree on this matter. We can settle this when we're back home, so Zeke can manage us." I offer my hand to shake on it, which Nebula heartedly agrees.

I've always enjoyed mentoring with Nebula, even if I've only done it for the last two years. She provides me with a better intellectual match than Elesa, Zeke, or Ellery. The others are too scared to question my knowledge. Nebula does it with a smile, even when she knows, deep down, that I am far more superior than she is.

The escort grabs the microphone, sending a screech of static into the air.

"Could you turn that into an offensive weapon?" Nebula teases, winking.

My lips quirk into a smile. "Quite easily. I'd heighten the frequency, wear some protective gear, and aim it deep down their ears, blowing their ear drums. Then I'd be able to sneak up on others."

Nebula nods. "You're my favourite."

"I'm not surprised. There's not much competition." I answer knowingly, as the escort makes her way back to the middle of the stage with a slip.

"District Five!" she hollers. "In my hand, right at this moment, I have your male! Do you want to know who it is?"

I cross my arms, bracing for it. The male will be my responsibility this year. Hopefully, he meets my expectations. I won't have a tribute who fears taking a stand against something. I need one who isn't afraid. Someone who can commit, and try.

"Uriah Quick!"

The crowd moves in sync with one another, revealing the tanned-skinned boy, around fifteen. He blinks a few times, looking around at the people around him. Obviously denial. I nod, understanding briefly what it's like. I moved past mine rather swiftly.

Eventually, a Peacekeeper steps forward, hooking Uriah by the arm and dragging him to the stage. Even when he's thrown up, he seems bewildered.

The escort claps her hands. "So much fun! Now, I shall tell you your female... which is Lumina Moseley!"

There's a sharp gasp, and I quickly find the source, a dark-haired girl with pale, alabaster skin. She shakes her head, a hand covering her mouth. The other girls around her whisper, talking quietly, before Lumina finally makes the movement towards us. When she climbs up onto the stage, she stares at me for a few moments. "You're Solar..." she whispers.

My eyebrows knit. "I am indeed." I answer shortly.

"I watched you get reaped," Lumina continues. A sharp pain cuts across my chest at the memory. It was painful, hearing my name be called. It wasn't shock that caught me; it was the reality of it all. "You won..."

I nod again, confused and awkward. I stare at Nebula, who seems just as perplexed as I. Did I do something to her, or does she appreciate my victory? Maybe it's neither. Maybe she's realising that she could win, that it's possible. Or she could be digesting the situation fully. Eventually, though, she turns back, still in total shock. When she offers Uriah her hand, he seems out of it too, barely registering his movements.

Both of the tributes are in a state of shock.

It doesn't spell a great start for either of them.

"Would you still like the boy, or Lumina, seeing as she's your fan?"

I shake my head. "I'll stick with Uriah. I don't like altering my plans."

"Understandable," Nebula chuckles. "Hey, Solar, are you okay?"

I'm not entirely sure. Lumina acknowledge my victory, as if it was unreal. I can't help but wonder whether the citizens of District Five really do place their hope in the likes of me and Nebula, just because we're Victors.

It's not just a word; it's a symbol.

"I'm fine," I smile, clearing my throat. "I'm just prepping myself to thoroughly thrash you when we return home."

* * *

**Constance Aires, District Six Female.**  
**One Hundred and Ninth Victor.**

* * *

"You're acting rather suspicious."

Lorcan's faint smile looks dopey in this light, but the amusement behind his eyes tells me otherwise. "I don't know what you mean, Constance. I'm perfectly normal."

"You're better," I narrow my eyes. "Mentally unstable people don't just smile. You of all people should know that."

"If you must know, Aston has been taking great care of me," he runs a hand through his matted hair, most of it bare clumps now. "I have a new prescription, I'm taking walks, and I have a purpose to wake up in the mornings. Why is it so bad?"

"Because I don't trust you right now," I hiss. "It doesn't add up. Last week, you almost tried to top yourself on vitamins. Then, you head to this party and sneak off with Aston, and you're suddenly puking up rainbows. Tell me where I shouldn't feel confused?"

His smile never fades. It's truly unnerving.

The door slams behind me, and I whirl around. Aston stands there, a special glint in his eyes.

"Oh, Constance, what a surprise."

"Can it," I raise my hand. I'm already tired of the pair of them. When I had to deal with Wisp rather than Aston, I'm almost positive that life was easier. "I can't care right now. I have better things to do. And by better, I mean mentoring. Shouldn't you be there?"

Aston smiles assuredly. "I'm here to give Lorcan his medication, and then I'm off."

I brush past him without much thought, ignoring the temperature rise in my cheeks. The pair of them make me so mad sometimes. Why shouldn't I know what they know? What are they even hiding in the first place?

I've never felt so pissed.

I stomp up the steps, ignoring the call from a Capitol stylist wanting to primp me up. Moments later, Aston comes walking down the pebbled path, lip pulled between his teeth.

I stay silent as he sits next to me.

"Constance, I-"

"Save it. I will find out, and when I do, you'll regret keeping me in the dark."

Aston snorts, but I choose to ignore him. I have two saps to try and save first, before saving the other two that reside near me. The Treaty of Treason flies by, new pictures and everything. I barely let any of it sink in as the escort takes the first slip from the bowl.

"Trust me, I will find out," I whisper harshly in Aston's direction. "You're better off telling me."

"You know, they say that curiosity killed the cat. Shall I call you Constance, or Catstance?" Aston only replies. He's looking for a rise out of me, and the little shit got it. He must be so proud of himself.

"Morgan Vos!"

I roll my eyes. The heavy, black fringe almost hides his eyes as he walks forward, head bowed down. He glances up once at me and Aston - his black eyes shockingly sharp - but proceeds to sigh, and stand ramrod straight, shoulders high.

Aston hums. I roll my eyes at that too.

"Britannia Bucker!"

This one doesn't cry either. I guess that's a bonus. Her pale face and white hair make her look strange, but in a district full of addicts and homeless, you'd learn to live with it. Britannia makes her way up the stage, almost mirroring Morgan perfectly. However, she glares at me, which doesn't do her any favours.

Attitude won't save her.

"District Six, your tributes!"

They turn to each other, and just stare. Neither shakes the other. Britannia's scowl is as clear as day on those puffy lips.

"You're smirking, you know." Aston comments.

"Shut up. I'm not happy with you." I turn in his direction, eyeing his face. "I don't like things being hidden from me. And the fact that you have Lorcan makes it worse."

Aston's charm falls, his lips quirking into a half-frown. "I didn't think it'd bother you so much. Why do you even assume there is something? Can't Lorcan just be recovering?"

Even when I call him out on it, Aston blatantly lies to my face. My heart falls into my chest. It hurts a lot more than he even can imagine. I sigh, letting it go. I will find out, even if I have to play dirty to know it. I rise, entering the Justice Building behind Britannia's hunched shoulders.

"Constance?" Aston calls out, by it falls on deaf ears; I don't have the time. I need to prepare to try and save one of the emo pair, even if Aston thinks I don't care.

* * *

**Delphine Birch, District Seven Female.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty-Sixth Victor.**

* * *

The last droplet of blood falls. It cascades downwards, landing in the puddle, producing a cloud of orange on the surface. Another soon follows. I step back from the branch, staring at my torn palm, jagged lines and fresh, black blood in every groove.

I grasp the thorny branch again, ignoring the hiss of pain. I squeeze tighter and tighter, rivulets of blood falling. Out here, no-one can find me. I'm safe and alone.

"Delphine?"

I release it hastily, stepping back. I move through the bushes, shoving my hand into my dress pocket. Opax soon comes into view, standing on the edge of the pasture. His eyes narrow when he sees me.

I smile softly, staring up at him. "Is it time?"

His eyes soften instantly. "It is," he mumbles, pulling me into an embrace. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I have to get used to it," I admit. "If not now, then later. I can't waste anymore time."

Opax takes my hand - my clean hand - and leads me through the district, smiling and patting the backs of everyone he knows. I stay awkwardly by his side, still new to this despite the years.

I've been clean for three years now. No drugs. No haze. No numbness. It took a long time, but finally, I was able to get away from the items that stole my sanity and innocence in that arena. I wouldn't have been able to do it without Opax. After Willow's death, I needed him more than ever, and he obliged. It'd kill him to know that hurting myself was the only way to make me feel... something.

The wooden stage comes into view. My chest tightens, and my step hitches. Opax pauses almost instantly. "Delphine?"

I shake my head. "No, no," I push forward, pulling him along and up the steps. "You can't wrap me in a blanket forever, Opax. I need to do this, and I need you to push me when I want to stop."

Spruce and Maple are getting old. We can't always rely on them to mentor. I need to step up, no matter what happens. I need to get better, and being proactive is the only way to do that. I force myself into the seat, Opax next to me.

When he opens his mouth to speak, I quiet him with my finger over his lips. "Trust me." I whisper. The more he does, the better things can be for him.

The minutes pass. The children fill the area, each one wearing scared expressions. In this moment, they hate their name, their life and their world. It's a world that damns them.

The escort soon takes the stage when everything settles. I shuffle, taking a firm grip in Opax's hand. The escort smiles kindly, before collecting the first death note. When she moves back to the microphone, every memory of killing those six people race across my mind.

_Lillith, D2. Penelope, D1. Pax, D9. Minette, D9. Faun, D10. Stoan, D11._

"Lyndon Marrett!"

The crowd parts, revealing the tanned boy. He seems completely shocked, frozen and locked in place. My heart pounds harder as he begins to move forward. He gets halfway, then just seems to stop, shaking slightly. A Peacekeeper grabs him by the elbow and yanks him the rest of the way. He stands on the stage, eyes blown wide.

"He looks so scared..." Opax mumbles.

I nod, feeling my throat close up. "Poor boy." I manage to choke out.

The escort tuts, moving to snatch up the female slip. She doesn't spare Lyndon a second look as she hollers into the microphone. "Quilow Sage!"

The crowd shifts again, eyes falling onto the lean girl. She doesn't react straightaway; after a few moments, her face pales, and she moves with her shoulders locked, and her head held high. Mounting the steps, Lyndon turns, offering a soft smile that Quilow doesn't share back.

The escort forces them to shake hands, something that makes the pair look uncomfortable.

My own hand starts to shake, still tucked in my pocket. I can feel the sticky warmth of my blood. It's a reminder that I'm alive, that it's real. I need something to stop me from feeling so numb once more... but Opax wouldn't understand. He's too busy trying to fix me, to realise that I'm trying to keep those wounds open to feel humane.

"Which tribute do you want?" Opax asks huskily.

"I... I don't know..." I admit. "...Lyndon."

Opax takes my hand, squeezing it tight. I force a smile, just to make him happy because, at the end of the day, if Opax can be happy, then I can try and live the way I want to.

* * *

**Chiffon Poiter, District Eight Female.**  
**Eighty-Eight Victor.**

* * *

I scrub my eyes as the sunlight blossoms down onto the packed area.

Tweed yawns once more, arms dangling over the edge of his chair. I don't blame him; it was a long night for us all. Pippin went out to the Capitol late last night, and Darek wouldn't sleep until he got home... and with that, none of us slept, constantly disturbed by Darek's fretting.

"Did Pippin even come home in the end?" Tweed asks quietly, eyeing the escort, Birdie, head to the centre of the stage.

"Extremely late," I nod, feeling my bones ache. "Early hours of this morning. Darek hasn't slept. Velvet didn't sleep either."

Tweed yawns again. "I got, what, five hours? Every time I dozed off, Darek was slamming a cupboard or door."

I smile fondly at that. When it concerns Pippin, Darek is as bad as a fretful parent. He took the boy in, and when he's not there, it's almost as if Darek doesn't know what to do with himself. He needs Pippin to feel important.

My boys. So in-tune with each other.

"Stop yawning," I comment when Tweed does it for the third time in the span of a few seconds. "It's inappropriate, considering the circumstances."

"Look, I love Pippin like a weird old Uncle or something, but I need sleep. I can't function without it. I'm glad he's safe, but surely Darek should've just waited patiently?"

Tweed's entirely out of the loop, as if Velvet. Tweed was too fresh, holding strong on the outside of his Victory. Velvet is a mess, through and through. The years have really whittled her down to almost a shell of her former self. Neither would've been useful; they're safer this way. But it pains me to lie to the two people whom I feel are like the family I've always, always wanted.

I sigh, placing my hand on his knee. "Leave it alone, Tweed."

"District Eight," Birdie purses her lips, pouting. "This will be my final year as your escort. It's an incredibly sad time for us all, I'm sure, but we shouldn't let that put a damper on the festivities of today. Please, no tears."

Tweed scoffs. "Deluded."

I shake my head, feeling my neck creak. "Don't be so rude. I'm sure she doesn't mean it like that."

Birdie moves to take the first slip, keeping the microphone tucked under her arm. Back in the middle, she smiles out to the crowd of nervous, frightened children. "Can Amery Caulan please make her way to the stage?"

My eyes move quickly, and despite being tired, I find the unlucky female. She combs her dishevelled hair, eyes widened as she moves forward. It takes a few moments before she's on the stage, and Birdie is shoving the microphone under her nose.

Amery's lips move, but nothing comes up. Birdie grumbles at that.

"Let's see if your male is any better..." she comments quietly, before smiling at the name. "Can Seth Patreli please make his way to the stage?"

It's as if a brick has slammed into the poor boy. At the front with the younger children, I instantly feel sick at the sight of his tears and fearful eyes. He climbs the steps in stunned silence, before opting to be near Amery. Birdie, once more, jumps into his personal space, microphone at his lips.

Seth's fear turns into a scowl, and he looks away.

Birdie grumbles. "I hate this district so, so much."

Tweed laughs bitterly at that. "We're not fond of your homeplace either, love."

"Tweed..."

"Sorry, sorry," he rolls his eyes. "Who'd you want this year? I'm okay with looking after the pair of them, if you feel too exhausted or anything."

There's still some life in these old bones. "Seth..." I smile fondly. "He reminds me of Darek."

Tweed laughs. "You're like a Mother, you know that?"

And as a Mother, I'll do absolutely anything for my children.

* * *

**Nicolet Aryth, District Nine Female.**  
**One Hundred and Sixteenth Victor.**

* * *

I skim over the files once more, ensuring that every little detail stays in my mind. I count the pages one last time, when a sudden rap on my door causes me to freeze. Hurriedly, I shove the papers underneath the dresser, re-sticking them to the bottom. I straighten myself out, and approach the door.

I peer through the peep hole. "Who is it?"

A tanned hand quickly covers it. "You'll have to guess."

I roll my eyes at the voice, pulling the chain from the latch. I open the door up, revealing the sprightly man-child in his full glory. "Don't you have better things to do than harass me on today of all days, Topher? You know what I have to do this evening."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, swaying on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, I know that, but I wanted to see you before the Reaping," he smiles. "You are coming, aren't you?"

When I don't answer, his face falls.

"I have pressing matters, Toph. I would if I could, but I need to get to the Capitol beforehand for preparations." I shrug him off briskly. Topher is great, but far too dependant on me sometimes. I don't have the time nor energy to balance out a rebellion and him. He probably only joined because of me.

He shakes his head. "You're mentoring. Remy nor Bailey are in a decent enough state to do so."

My entire mood drops. "Seriously?" I deadpan.

Remy's recent turn to alcoholism was the last thing that anyone needed. For years, he kept clean, depressed but clean. Last year, his best friend's daughter died in the bloodbath. His best friend killed himself. Remy's been incapacitated ever since. Bailey, on the other hand, has age against her side, and a recent stroke hasn't made things any greater.

"I was sure Remy would do it, but I caught him with the whiskey this morning," Topher continues. "It's just you and me. I would do it alone, but you know the rules."

I don't have a choice. If Topher appears alone, I might as well hand over everything to the enemy. Great. Exactly what I needed. "Fine," I grumble, hastily snatching the paperwork and shoving it into my pocket. "But we better hope there isn't a train inspection on the way. I can't afford to be frisked."

Despite everything, Topher smiles, and he walks by my side all the way. I turn to the side as we approach the Square. The fields and grain sway in the breeze. If it leads to a rebellion, they'll burn those crops to cut off food. District Ten will lose their cattle, District Eleven will be burned to the ground, and District Four will have their ships bombed.

But it'll be worth it. I just know it will. This time, they won't see us coming.

Topher bounces up the steps, forcing his enthusiasm to shine through. I sit down next to him on the stage, seeing the pens fill up slowly. After a few minutes, the Peacekeepers close them in, and the lambs wait for their potential slaughter.

The escort - Farran - moves quickly to the microphone, his hands shaking constantly. He's as useless as they come.

"I-I shall make this quick..." he falls quiet, clipping the slip. "Y-Your female tribute this year is... Athalie Ivers..."

A choked sob breaks through the silence. I sigh, seeing the sea of girls reveal the blonde-haired girl, arms around her chest. She looks entirely shocked. Then, I smirk, because she bolts for it.

Topher leans up into his seat. Everyone seems to gasp at the runner. But then, as promising as she starts, Athalie runs straight into a robust Peacekeeper, whose hand quickly hooks and twists, forcing her to her knees. Quickly, she's dragged and tossed onto the stage.

Farran looks so stunned, it takes him ages to recover. "Oh," he mutters, popping the male slip open. "Y-Your male tribute is... Kalle Ramsey..."

Kalle is revealed far too quickly too. Everyone around him acts like he's a disease, spreading further and further away. Kalle doesn't react, though. He's frozen, wide-eyed and confused. Like with Athalie, the Peacekeepers intervene.

"Not again." Topher mumbles.

The man in white steps into the cleared circle, grabbing for Kalle's hand. And that's when Kalle reacts. His face tightens, and a fist comes shooting upwards, clipping the mask of the Peacekeeper and knocking it off. Chaos erupts, and more come running in. Kalle doesn't fight it though. He's far too shocked to do anything but accept the hand across his face, and knees hitting the cobbles as he's dragged to stage.

Of course, it does nothing for Farran. He's ready to faint.

"Both tried to do something, at least," Topher comments. "Shows promise, doesn't it?"

My lips twitch into a smile. "It shows fighters. It shows that, despite being seen as poor and malnourished, our spirits can lead us. Topher? We might have ourselves a Victor."

And for the first time ever, I truly believe that myself.

* * *

**Macaulay Hatch, District Ten Male.**  
**One Hundred and Twelfth Victor.**

* * *

I fumble with the smooth coin, pressing it between my fingers and then my palm.

Oxford glances over at me, wincing under the bright sunlight. I smile softly, tucking the small chip into my pocket, patting it for good luck. "Are you okay, Ox?"

He nods, placing a hand over his eyes. "The sunlight just hurts, that's all. I... I can't remember where I placed my glasses..."

I lean forward, tapping the black-rimmed spectacles on his head. Oxford laughs lightly, but the pained look on his expression never leaves. Even to this day, he tries to hide how much his memory is deteriorating, but it never slips by me. He keeps his diary, and I keep a record.

Saving myself was never enough for me. I brought myself back from depression and alcoholism. I'm proud because I knew that, at the end of the day, Lylac, Sunny, nor Serena had the time.

"How are the brain puzzles coming along?"

Oxford seems caught-off by that. "They're going good," he answers. "I've... I still don't remember that colour between red and yellow..."

It's only ever the small things. I caught onto that at the beginning. It's mainly names, words, colours and animals. I guess that's the only bonus behind his head injury; it didn't kill him.

When the escort comes out, I wave politely. Nevell has always been kind towards District Ten. He claims he was born in the wrong place, but I always have to assure him that he'd be entirely different if he went through the system we all did.

Nevell moves to us quickly, ignoring the rules. "How are you both?"

"We're great, Nevell," I answer for the pair of us, sparing Oxford any unnecessary stress. "And how's the family?"

"Growing by the day. Another bun in the oven for me, as you farm-folk would say!"

Nevell scampers when he's called, waving and smiling like a bumbling baboon. When I check on Oxford, I can see how his forced smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, making them wrinkle in the way his seventeen-year-old self would do to hide the fear of entering an arena.

"...Josiah Kirsche." Nevell's solemn voice hits my ears.

I turn to the boys, scanning the potential tributes. My gut twists uncomfortably, but I force the smile to brighten, in order to show these kids that, at the end of the day, I won't ever abandon them. Josiah isn't hard to spot. He's already walking to the stage, his jaw clenched. At the top, he gives me a curt nod, one I eagerly reply to.

Oxford mumbles something I don't quite get, but then Nevell has the female slip, and my heart leaps to my throat in anticipation.

"...Merona Rosales."

The girl is far too close to the front for my liking.

Her black hair swishes as she moves, body tense and rigid. She climbs the steps stiffly and stands by Josiah's side. Even from behind, her fear radiates outwards, fingers twitching and knees buckling slightly.

Josiah and Merona are the total opposites.

I nod, digesting everything and turning to Oxford. "I think you should take on Josiah. He seems more in-tune with everything. Merona might need more support."

Oxford doesn't argue. "That's fine... what's her name again? Merona?"

A bright smile quickly appears on my face. "Oxford... you... you remembered her name!"

Oxford's entire face lifts, and the sun only makes it that more poetic. "Did I?" he seems shocked, like he doesn't believe. "And the male... his name is Josiah, right!?"

"Right!" I cheer.

My entire body buzzes with energy. I throw myself out of the seat, hugging Oxford as tight as I can. He remembers! He's getting better!

And as long as he keeps getting better, I know that he can do it. I have all of my faith in him!

* * *

**Kane Swallow, District Eleven Male.**  
**One Hundred and Thirteenth Victor.**

* * *

The sky is cloudless. The air is humid and sticky, thick against my clothing. These are the days that I treasure, the ones where District Eleven can bathe in its glory properly. I fall down into my seat, staring out at the sea of children entering their pens.

Everyone looks so glum despite the glorious weather. Why? Reaping Day isn't something to feel sad about. I mean, chances are slim for everyone.

I push the thoughts to the back of my mind, closing my eyes and relaxing back. Mako's still at home. Gypsy should be on her way. I have plenty of time before someone decides to ruin my good mood.

"Are you sleeping?"

I grumble, opening my eyes. Gypsy slowly walks up the steps, a dopey smile on her face. "You look happy," I raise an eyebrow. "Anger management going well?"

She shrugs. "You could say that. I have a reason to feel less angry nowadays."

"I let you go away to the Capitol on your own once, and you've come back with some high-end narcotic that's quenching your fury," I shake my head. "Which doctor did you beat for them? What are they?"

Gypsy doesn't answer. She snorts, sitting down in her own seat.

"No, seriously, tell me," I lean up. "Are you seeing stars? Is it a good feel?"

"Stop it. It's not drugs," Gypsy glares. "Look, a few moments with you and I'm already angry again. Just... just stop it."

Gypsy's lips move, counting out the numbers. Always so touchy. She should learn to relax; maybe some drugs might be good for her. I turn back into my seat, basking in the glow of the sun and warmth. A few moments later, and Horatio climbs up the steps, his obnoxious green hair standing out.

I bite back a laugh. "Nice hair, Horatio," I wink. He turns, blushing heavily. "You look like a walking celery stick."

His lips snap into a snarl. "I hate you, Kane Swallow."

"Most people are too stuck-up to appreciate me."

Horatio gets to work quickly. He announces our district, plays the promotional video, and collects the male slip with ease. He stands in the middle of the stage, swaying on his heels. "Are we all prepared?" he whispers, teasingly snapping the slip open. "...Kai Clematis!"

"He's there, in case you were interested." Gypsy jabs her finger into the crowd, where I spot the boy. Instantly, my mood is lifted. Even with buckled legs and a slack jaw, Kai looks impressive. He quickly gathers his thoughts and walks forward, eyes hardened.

When he gets on the stage, Horatio giggles, before taking the female slip.

Once more, he takes his sweet time. "...Elena Cortez!"

A sharp cry pierces the air. The crowd moves, revealing the chunky monkey in question. Tears fall from her face. Her head snaps to the older pen, and she sprints with pumping arms. She barely makes it before a Peacekeeper snatches her, dragging her flailing body to the stage.

"Jorja! Jorja, save me! Jorja!"

No-one answers her pleas. She's tossed on the stage, where she deflates onto her knees, sobbing loudly. Kai looks away, jaw clenched. My heart lurches for the little girl. She doesn't stand a chance.

Horatio suddenly looks comfortable. "District Eleven, here are your tributes."

No-one claps. There's a subtle murmur, and that's when I catch on. Gypsy walks across the stage, bending down and wrapping Elena in an embrace. I smile a little; Gypsy has never, ever done that before. She doesn't form emotional attachments to our tributes; she prepares for their deaths.

I stand and slowly clap. The crowd soon joins in.

Gypsy turns, giving me a sharp look.

"What?" I whisper harshly. "It was clearly a movie moment."

* * *

**Saskia Rossum, District Twelve Female.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty-Eighth Victor.**

* * *

I can't do this. Not again. I'm not ready.

Something moves outside the window. I look up, blinking away the tears. Crispin mounts the stage, his weathered eyes scanning around for me, no doubt. Then they land on the window and I can't even move to hide. He smiles sadly, ushering me out with his finger.

I swallow thickly, crumpling the piece of paper in my hands.

"Miss Rossum, you have to head outside now. Mr Ricknor is waiting for you." a kind voice says, one of the maids or something. I turn to smile slightly and nod, before she scurries out of the room.

I have to do this. It'll look weird if I don't. Everyone sees me as some sort of symbol now. It's been years since District Twelve has won - and technically, I'm the fifth Victor in the history of the entire Hunger Games. I can feel the pressure on my shoulders. I shake my head, flatten out my dress, and leave the room briskly.

An attendant opens the door when I near it.

"Thank you." I say politely, stepping outside.

The thick, muted air suffocates me instantly. My breath hitches in my throat as I see the pens, slowly filling with potential tributes to be sent to the slaughter. My foot clips the other, and I stumble, only to be caught by Crispin.

"Carefully, Saskia," he laughs lightly, a poor attempt to cheer me up. I blush heavily, feeling the emotions build at the back of my throat. "I know it's tough," he continues. "And I can't promise it'll get easier... but for now, we need to smile, and pretend that it doesn't hurt."

It's easier said that done. "O...okay." I smile, gently taking my seat.

When the escort mounts the stage and everything is set, I can't help but flashback to two years prior, when my name was called and the death sentence hung over my head.

I should be dead. I'd... I'd rather be dead.

I start to violently shake in my seat, tears pooling at my eyelashes. I blink them away, but they keep coming. My hand moves, and I barely acknowledge Crispin's tender grip, palm full of callouses and grooves.

"District Twelve! Your male tribute this year is... Draconis Cor!"

The crowd moves. My breath hitches at the poorly-dressed boy, hair masking his face. He moves it out of the way, revealing a calm exterior. His eyes flicker around him as he moves forward, hand grasped on something shiny in his pocket.

When he nears, I realise he's carrying a knife.

I almost scream, but Crispin's touch reminds me of the false bravado I have to show. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he stands on the stage, still holding his knife dangerously.

The escort rolls her eyes. "Urchin..." she grumbles, collecting a female slip. The irrational part of my brain believes it'll say _Saskia Rossum_. Instead, she smiles grimly. "Your female tribute this year is... Annabeth G-"

"I volunteer!"

"No!" I scream, unable to hold it back. Then I realise I'm standing, dozens of eyes trained on me. Crispin urgently yanks me back down. My eyes don't leave the moving girl, though, her dark hair untangled and bright eyes looking sharp. "She's insane." I whisper.

The girl takes the microphone from the enthusiastic escort. "Anastasia Marrel," she declares. "And I'm going to win. I have nothing to lose."

"She'll lose her life," I continue, unable to hold back. I want to scream for the girl, force her down those steps and tell her to take the opportunity whilst it's available. Instead, I'm paralysed in my seat, watching helplessly. "Crispin... I can't..."

"I'll take her," Crispin answers warmly. "You can have the male. Saskia, it'll be okay. We'll do all we can, but it'll still be up to them to survive."

And truth be told, I won't be able to help. I'm as useless as they come.

My mind clicks into place, and I hand the piece of paper out to Crispin, who only frowns. "It's some help," I speak numbly. "Maybe you can help them both with it. I can't, Crispin... I can't..."

I'm off and running into the Justice Building before he can call after me, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I don't want to do this anymore!

* * *

******The blog for this story is_ demonswithin hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Which tribute stood out to you?_**

**_Which mentor stood out to you?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

***insert excuses about personal duties and life and procrastination getting in the way***

**So yeah. I don't know about this chapter, but eh, I've always hated Reapings. But look, they're already over! How great is that!? It's super. **

**I have nothing to say. I'm always more about my mentors than the tributes here. I guess it shows you more about the people that are responsible for your tribute, and gives me something to work on when they appear during the four Capitol chapters.**

**So anyway, let's see if I make it next week, okay?**


	4. Don't Fear The Reaper

**Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult.**

* * *

**Don't Fear The Reaper.**

_Seasons don't fear the reaper. Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain._

* * *

**Britannia Bucker, District Six Female.**

* * *

"Here you are, Miss Bucker."

The door falls shut behind me. I turn, eyeing the carefully constructed prep room around me. Everything is neat and organised, bottles and jars lining the walls. It smells like someone puked up a rainbow in here. I move to the chair, falling down and letting out a deep sigh.

I knew this would happen. I mean, why wouldn't it? Why would I not be reaped? It's my own shitty luck. I'm not even angry anymore. I'm just ticked. Of all the names out there, with mine being the bare minimal, and it was me.

You couldn't write this stuff up.

The door opens again. I look up, pushing a hulk of blonde hair from my eyes. The man stands there, fiery eyes and red haired. "You must be Britt."

I raise an eyebrow. "Britannia to you," I reply, feeling the anger at the nickname. That isn't for him. He doesn't get to call me that; not when he's one of them. "Can I ask yours, or is it too ridiculous to pronounce?"

"Pierre," he snorts, stepping forward. "I am your stylist."

"Well, aren't you just lucky?" I smile dryly, looking back down at my wrinkled hands.

I hear him step forward, before feeling his finger graze my bare shoulder. The team before him - I called them the three buffoons - have plucked and pruned me until I'm raw. "My team mentioned you were an annoyance," he comments, and I snort at the remark. "Something funny?"

I shrug my shoulders. "When it comes from people like you, telling me that I'm the annoyance? It's ironic, not funny."

"If it's all the same with you, I'd rather just work in silence, seeing as your attitude is ruining the pill I took earlier." Pierre begins whatever he wants, wrapping things around my body parts and writing down measurements. I make sure to do it all with a snarky smile.

When he's done, he smiles.

"What?" I deadpan. I'm sure there's a nasty remark on his tongue. I can practically see the glee in his eyes. If he wants to make my chances even slimmer, than fine, I don't particularly care anyway. I'm not beautiful or charming enough for sponsors, so I've already resigned myself to being aloof and determined. He'll only add to it.

"You're... average," he coughs. "But I see some potential. Not a lot, but some."

"Your words really touch my soul." I place a hand over my heart.

Pierre snorts. "We'll have to beat that attitude out of you before the interviews."

My sarcastic smile drops. Anger pumps through my veins. I clench my fists, looking away from his punchable face. I wasn't always like this; but when you live in a society like Panem, and the highlight of your day is knowing that tomorrow will come for you, you realise there's not a lot to smile about.

My only real goal out of this is to at least die with some dignity, maintaining my self - that people suck, and the world isn't much prettier.

* * *

**Claudio Saxon, District Four Male.**

* * *

The sound of muted cheering is clear. Even over the noise of horses and other tributes, I can find it. It makes me nervous. My stomach churns and I clench my knuckles, taking a deep breath. I never prepared myself for this. It slipped my mind about it all. I was so driven, so focused on making it to the stage, that I completely forget everything in the process. How could I be so stupid? _Stupid Claudio, stupid!_

The anger dulls every other sense and thought.

I spin around - ready to punch the chariot's base out of anger - when Indra's voice catches my attention. "Hey you," I force myself to calm down and smile politely, taking her hand as she offers me it. "Help me up into the chariot, will ya?"

"Don't you want to wait for Odyessa and Mirth?" I knit my eyebrows, but still help the entire length of her dress get into the chariot.

Indra snorts, pulling her hair out of the carefully created bun. "Not particularly. What can they do? I don't need any help with this part. This is what I'm great at."

I'm personally better at the fighting. This all just makes me uncomfortable. "You seem as if you'll do good, Indra," I smile softly, looking away at Dorian and Daira, caught in the middle of a heated, hushed argument. "Have you made any progress with the others yet?"

"I'm not bothering. That's your job, sweetie." she winks.

Odyessa mentioned that it'd be our job to form the group. Apparently, in her words, I "stink" of leadership potential. But I'm not becoming the leader. I don't think I could handle the pressure of others. I'm here to do what I've been born and bred, and that's to win and fight, not look after others. I scan around the room, ticking the names I've repeated and learned over and over in my head.

It feels wrong to forget someone.

Eventually, I see the tributes from District One; Jet and Saraide, coming out of the elevator. Jet quickly cuts across the room towards me, a bright grin on his face. I'm slightly taken aback when he shoves his hand in my chest, but I shake it nonetheless.

"Hi," he smiles toothy. "I'm Jet, Jet Rinehart. You're Claudio, right?"

I nod curtly. "I am. And I know of you. This is my district partner, Indra."

Jet only waves that comment away. "I'm not interested in talking to her. I came for you, actually. I'm going to propose that I become leader. Can I count on your vote?"

I open my mouth to answer, but Indra beats me to it. "Get out," I turn around, seeing her lean on the chariot with her elbow. She raises an eyebrow. "Are you seriously going to do that now, before we've even started?"

Jet doesn't acknowledge her. He keeps his face on me. "As I said, do I have your vote?"

"Are you ignoring me?"

Jet looks up, smile fading. "I'm not ignoring you, Indra, I'm simply talking to Claudio. I think it's rather rude that you'd cut in like that. Now, let the boys talk, okay?"

I shrink between the pair, feeling torn. I'm not interested in this. I don't care for either answer. If Jet wants it, he can have it. At the end of the day, from what I've learned, it's only a role of vulnerability anyway. Careers always turn on their leaders first. And right now, Jet isn't making that hard.

After a moment of joint-staring, Indra fumes. "Claudio! Get up on this chariot and away from him now!"

Jet raises an eyebrow at that. Great, just what I needed. I have an unspoken responsibility to always be on Indra's side. District Dynamic, Nicolai would call it. I smile apologetically, hoisting myself up. Jet concedes with a nod, before walking away, red suit shimmering. When he's truly gone, Indra sighs angrily.

"I can't believe him," Indra grumbles. "What a pig."

"...I don't think that was his intention. I believe he wanted true allies, and came to me for that."

"Yeah, but only because you're big, trained, and a man," Indra retorts, clicking her tongue. "I almost guarantee that he won't talk to the other two either. Just you and the sibling boy."

I smile tiredly. "It's none of our business if they do or don't. Focus on yourself, Indra. You were looking forward to this. Don't let him ruin it for you."

Indra's lips turn into a smile. "You're right. I've waited for this moment for years now. I'm not letting that jerk screw it all up. Thank you, Claudio, for making me see sense."

Indra won't let this go, I can tell that much. I know for a fact that if the roles were reversed, I'd never let Jet forget. I'd hold onto that anger to carry me into the final. Something tells me, though, that it's about to get a lot more harder for me.

I'm not ready for it, but I have to be. This is my life, and I can't mess it up. Everything has boiled to this, and I have to hit it right. I just have to.

* * *

**Quilow Sage, District Seven Female.**

* * *

This is it.

The chariot lurches forward unexpectedly. I grab the railing, heart racing as the doors ahead let light stream through. Next to me, Lyndon stands rigid, face tightened. His grip on the railing has his knuckles turning white. Part of me wants to ask him how he is, but the other part reminds me of the situation, zipping my lips shut.

One by one, the chariots disappear into the blinding light.

Opax told me that I'd have to smile at the very least. But I don't know if I can. It doesn't help that I'm expected to lay my soul on the table for everyone. On the train, Delphine and Opax made it clear that we'd work as a team, and encouraged me and Lyndon to share any fears. It took them a while, but Lyndon spilled in secret. I just couldn't do it. I wanted to - so desperately - but everything kept me from talking.

And now I'm truly alone.

I lower my head, avoiding the harsh glare of white as the horses pull us through. The sound of clapping hits my hears, overwhelming and drowning out my own voice in my head.

"Jet! Saraide! Kalle! Kai! Josiah! Quilow!"

Wait, what?

I look up, eyes widened and trying to find the source. Then I find the small child, holding a banner streaked with my name, and a deep shade of red that covers it. It almost looks like blood. She stares straight back, so happy and bold, and my lips steadily split into a smile.

"I'm happy for you, Quilow."

I instantly stop. I can't meet Lyndon's eyes. "Yeah. Thanks."

He's trying so hard. I watched him play nice with Delphine, talking shop with Opax. He just fumbled and mumbled, closed-in on himself. He's socially awkward, but at the same time, he could be scared.

We're going to die, after all. I doubt anyone will want to hear our thoughts when they won't matter. Will the Capitol love a sob story, or go for the arrogant, charming Career instead?

Then, I hear Lyndon's name. His smile widens as he tries to find the source. My hand moves before I can think. "Over there," I point to the gaggle of females, screaming and waving at him. "I think they want you."

Lyndon's hope radiates from him. He's so happy at the slightest call of his name. He doesn't show it, but I can feel it. I've spent years just watching people, learning and observing. I guess they'd call it a strength. But at the same time, it just reminds me that I can't attach myself to anyone. I want to - I've tried - but something has always kept me back. And this time, a murder game? That's a pretty big deal when it comes to friendship.

The chariot slows down, before veering off to the left. The leaves on my headdress shift, tilting to the side. I adjust them slightly, looking up at the boy from District Five. He blinks a few times, unable to look away.

A blush creeps on my face and I instantly turn the opposite direction.

No allies. No attachment. No friends.

If I can be forgettable, then I can win. I know enough about survival to learn how to hide. I can do that. Just that. Nothing else. For Pei. For Renato. For Ferdinand. My family who could easily move on without me, yet I need them for comfort.

I shake my head.

"Are you okay?" Lyndon whispers.

I'm so confused. I shake my head again, feeling my chest tighten. "Yeah." I answer, feeling my hands shake against the cool bar. I hate this. I hate all of this. It's not fair. It's just not fair!

On the other side, the boy from District Nine gives me a sympathetic smile, but that does nothing but make it worse.

He'll die. Lyndon will, too. I'll probably die, and I'm not ready to face death.

Great. Without anyone, it's just me. And I'm probably going to go insane talking to just myself.

I look up instead, focusing in on the royal family of Panem. Esmeralda Snow is wheeled forward, encouraged out of her seat. The twisted part of me wants her to fall and die. To suffer for everything she stands for. If we all have to die, she should, too.

"Welcome, tributes, to the Capitol. We thank you."

"Good luck." I whisper to Lyndon, but he doesn't hear me.

* * *

**Josiah Kirsche, District Ten Male.**

* * *

So, we're cowboys.

I pull at the hideous outfit of black and white, keeping away from my skin like it's made of fire. I loathe the idea behind cowboys. If the Capitol - or my stylist, for that matter - ever bothered to go to District Ten, they'd realise that cowboys are a fantasy, and that it's full of butchers, farmers, and milkmaids.

Fumbling with my clothes, I tune out Esmeralda Snow, ignoring the words.

Yeah, the past generation messed up. Yeah, they tried again. And yeah, we're paying for it still. It makes total sense. Absolutely.

Merona shuffles uncomfortably by my side, paying attention to the words. She shouldn't. It's only to get in our heads, mess with what we know and the situation we're in so that we don't play as hard.

They can't stop me. I won't stop until I'm going home. Sadly, it wasn't hard to resign myself to killing. I'm going to feel guilty after each death I cause or witness, but it'll only drive me harder to get back to my family, or more importantly, my brother, Israel.

The speech soon ends. The horse whinnies, before veering off to the right to take us back. Merona doesn't release her grip on the railing the entire way.

"It's not going anywhere, Merona," I comment, raising an eyebrow. She's letting them get into her head. She needs to sit back, and plan for the upcoming days. "You look stressed. Cool it. You'll burn out before we've even begun."

Merona turns, cheeks tinted red as we pull to a halt. The noise soon disappears, and the spotlights from above illuminate down on us all. To my right, the elevators open, and the mentors come pouring in.

"I need to focus, Josiah. I need to prepare myself."

I shake my head. "You're being too hard-headed about it. I can see steam coming out your ears."

"Yeah, well, it's not a very pleasant situation." she grumbles.

Whilst she might be coping well, Merona's taking on too much. Her maturity is going to be the death of her quite literally. But, she's not my problem. Macaulay can deal with her. Maybe he can knock some sense into her thick skull.

I clamber down from the chariot, helping Merona down politely. Oxford and Macaulay are there within seconds.

"You both did great," Macaulay congratulates us, but it's a lie. Merona was tense. I didn't smile. I doubt we'll be gaining any sponsors as of yet. "Merona, are you okay?"

I roll my eyes. "You can tell her to calm down. She's making me stressed, and we've only been here one evening."

I mean it with hardened kindness obviously. Truthfully, I feel bad for the girl - her age being a major downfall - but I can't bring myself to carry that burden. No, I need realism. I need an ally, not a friend.

I scan the nearby area for just that.

I remember their names; the two possible candidates. Kalle Ramsey and Kai Clematis. Both showed promise, their age and defining muscles and features making them standout choices. If I can talk to either of them, then I can set something up, give myself an advantage.

When I spot Kai - decked out in golden grains and withering stalks - Oxford steps into view, smiling. "Are you scanning for an ally?"

"Of course," I reply gruffly. "I want one now, not later. I need to make sure that I'm finding someone useful."

"Nice people are useful, Joey," I cringe at the name, but let it slide because, well, Oxford is a Victor, and as poor as the guy is, he's a legend in his own right. "You need trust as well as skills."

I smirk. "Thus now, rather than later. I can evaluate their usefulness, and set up something so that I know they won't stab me in the back too soon. Unfortunately, Oxford, I know what I'm doing. I shouldn't, but I do. I've seen it happen too many times."

Oxford frowns. "Joey..."

"I'm sorry," I step around him, briefly smiling. "I know what's best for me. I know what I'm going to do."

And with that, I make my way towards Kai, adrenaline pumping.

I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to go home, and put this all behind me as quick as possible.

* * *

**Daira Lamotte, District Two Female.**

* * *

The moment the chariot stops, I jump down.

Neither Cadmus nor Saffron are in sight, but that doesn't matter. I don't even care for the pair of them. It's him that's bugging me.

I move swiftly across the room, dragging the dress behind me. Dorian's footsteps chase me, hard and quick, and his hand clamps around my wrist. I spin around, sending the other straight into his cheek. His head recoils, eyes coming back hurt and agitated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt? Now you know how it felt when you stole that chance from me." I hiss, jabbing my perfectly manicured finger into the elevator button.

"Daira, you're making a scene." Dorian whispers.

"Like I care," I smile slyly, enjoying the mere attention from our allies that will, without a doubt, be watching and waiting for the ticking timebomb to explode. The doors open, and Dorian inserts himself next to me. "You stole what I wanted, what I worked hard for, what was rightfully mine! You had no right, Dorian!"

The doors shut, the last image being Jet and Saraide, watching in anxiety.

"I... I didn't know you were volunteering." he whispers.

I breathe heavily, letting the anger subside. "I wasn't going to tell you," I look to him. "You'd only try to stop me, and this is my life, Dorian, not yours."

He turns, tears building on his eyes. "I can't lose you..."

"You had a life," I hiss, feeling the anger come back. "A fiancée and everything! You threw it all away and for what? One of us is going to die, stupid."

"I'm going to protect you!"

"You need to die then!" I scream. "Don't you get that? Is that messed-up head of yours not comprehending the fact that you will have to die to complete your wish?"

My heart pulsates against my chest, over and over again. I don't know whether I'm more angry at the fact that he stole everything from me - the attention, the spotlight - or for the fact that he didn't think it through, and my inevitable victory will only ever be clouded by his death now.

Mom and Dad flipped the entire room over. I'm almost sure they were going to beat Dorian senseless. To be honest, a part of me wanted them too.

Dorian looks away. "...I just reacted. I couldn't let you do it."

"You can't stop me."

"So I volunteered because... cause I..." he trails off, unable to complete the ridiculousness behind his jarred thoughts. The doors open up, and I storm out, secretly knowing that Dorian will only chase after me. Saffron and Cadmus watches us from the couches. Of course, he does.

"Daira... we can work through this." he pleads.

I pause at my bedroom door. "We obviously cannot," I feel sick now. "Go to sleep, Dorian. I need time to be on my own."

There's another pause, before Dorian shuffles his feet against the carpet. "...you don't have to be alone."

"I want to be alone!" I shout. "Go away! Go away, go away, go away!"

I throw the door open and slam it shut behind me, tears fresh on my eyelashes, mascara streaming black lines down my cheeks. I rip the beautiful ball gown from my body, moving to the mirror in the bathroom. I grip the sink, staring at my reflection.

_You're beautiful. You're a Victor. Dorian's an idiot. He'll die for you, you know, and the worst part is that you secretly want him too, because the glory and limelight is all you've ever wanted. _The tears soon stop. If Dorian wants to help me out, then he needs to do the one thing for me that he can do without causing any harm to his stupid body - he can't be my ally.

Tomorrow, in training, I have to shun him. I'll take leadership, and banish him from the ranks.

I don't have a choice. I hate him, but I can't watch him die, and he needs to die. He needs to.

* * *

**Kalle Ramsey, District Nine Male.**

* * *

Around me, the tributes talking quietly with their mentors, some from other districts already pairing up. My eyes linger on the Careers, a group of four. Then they turn to me. I hide no shame, though. I stare at them straight back, refusing to be the first to look away.

I hear footsteps, but ignore them.

The guy from One - Jet or Pet or something - finally breaks eye contact, and I smile triumphantly. I hear a cough, and turn to Topher, leaning on the side of the chariot. Behind him, Athalie talks quietly with Nicolet.

"It keeps falling down," Topher comments when I jump down from the chariot. "Dude, I'm seeing a lot more than I want to right now."

I raise an eyebrow, looking down to the corn toga sat on my hips. "Oh," I laugh, pulling it up. "I told her to make it longer. I guess she just wanted to touch my ass or something." I smile it away.

Topher laughs. "Probably. Some of them are perverts."

I'm pretty sure she did graze her fingers over me for longer than necessary, but I didn't bother to complain. The admiration made me smile. And besides, she's bound to see those sort of things all the time.

"Walk with me." Topher comments.

"Can't we strut? It's more flattering," I joke, staying by his side anyway. "What'd you want to talk about?"

"Allies," he mentions. "Nicolet and I were thinking that you and Athalie should try it out."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Really? Cause, I'm not being funny, but even I can see that we're chalk and cheese."

"They say that opposites bring the best out in each other," he continues. "You might make her open up, and she might cool you down some."

"You've known me for a few hours." I narrow my eyes.

"And I can already tell that the confidence is good, but it's whether or not you can back it up. There's a fine line between confidence and arrogance, you know, and that line is determined by skill."

I can't help but chuckle, nodding appreciatively. "Didn't know you could get so serious," I smile. "I respect that."

What Topher doesn't know, though, is that I have the skill to back it up. I don't plan on showering the competition with the knowledge of it, but I won't hide it either. I'm not going to sit back and be a stagnant party. It'll be even better if Athalie shows something magnificent, something she hides from everyone.

I nod, turning back and heading towards Nicolet. When she sees me, she smiles slyly, stepping away and leaving Athalie on her own. Athalie's eyes widen when she realises it's just me and her.

"Allies?"

Her eyes go even wider, bright blue and pretty cool. "W-What?"

"I'm not one to beat around the bush, little lady," I smile friendly, offering my arm for her to take. She hesitates, though. "Us Niners have to stick together. We'll share sponsor money, supplies, weapons, you name it. It beats having to find someone and spend ages trusting them, when you have an all-ready-made partner."

"Kalle, I don't know..." she answers, looking away.

"I won't take no for an answer," I push just a little bit. "You're attractive. So am I. That calls for a lot of sponsors, if you ask me, and your sweetness coupled with charm would probably result in a lot of people backing us. And, don't tell anyone, but I'm confident enough for training."

She seems so blown away by it all. I laugh a little, her pale skin quickly turning a bright crimson. She nods meekly. "...I guess," her eyes soon drift south, the red turning almost purple. "Kalle, your... y-your grass skirt..."

I hike it back up without removing my eyes. "I swear my escort wanted me naked." I laugh.

Athalie laughs, but it's unbelievably forced. "Yeah..."

I can't help but smile at the sweetness she radiates; I grasp her hand, lacing it through my arm to rest on my bicep. "Now, we should discuss the plans for tomorrow, right?"

* * *

**Draconis Cor, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

I hear the muted sound of Crispin knocking on Saskia's door once more. I open an eye, staring ahead at the scene. His knuckles hit it one, two, three times, but Saskia doesn't answer.

He steps back, deflated. "I'm sorry, Draconis," he mumbles. "I guess you'll have to deal with me splitting my time between you and Ana."

I close my eye again and shrug. "You can just mentor Ana, if you must."

I hear him sigh, and then the couch dips to my right. "That's not the point," he continues. "You need someone to help you in there. I could easily split it between you two, but it's whether you're okay with that."

His words go through one ear and out the other. What's the point? Crispin can't save me in there. He can't save Ana, either. He'll sit behind a huge screen and cross his fingers and maybe, just maybe, he might get to decide on the lowest-priced item and which one of us deserves it more. But that's it. It's still down to us.

"Sure. Whatever." I try to put him off, but he doesn't move. And when I hear footsteps, I just know that Ana has returned.

"What's going on with Saskia?" Ana asks, taking a seat too.

If anything, Saskia's probably the only one whose reaction is normal. She lives in a dictatorship. She's a famed murderer. She's still young. Add all that up, and I highly doubt someone would be perfectly happy.

Crispin sighs. "I'm not sure... I thought she'd be better this year, I really did..."

My eyes peel open. "I doubt it'd just go away like that, Crispin."

Anastasia snorts. "So we're a therapist now?"

Come from the girl who volunteered, and has yet to explain her reasons.

I stare directly at her, raising an eyebrow. Her glare doesn't ease at all. "I'm not. I'm stating the obvious, which neither of you two got, which says a lot more about you than me," I rise from my seat. "I'm heading to bed. We have a big day, after all."

I stroll out of the room, keeping my head held high.

I don't plan on giving up easily, but I don't plan on making a fool of myself. I'll play their little game. I'll be their little pawn for however long it suits me. But when the time comes, I'll go out my own way, whether it's a victory or death.

Heading into my bedroom, I barricade the door quickly, wrapping a pair of socks to the handle, fastening it to the nearest dresser. I let out a heavy, contained breath, and fall back onto the bed, finally safe. I've always felt safer being trapped. No-one can approach me sneakily, and hey, it's great practice for the arena.

I pause, going through the list in my mind.

_Live life like you've always done: trust no-one nor nothing. Everyone is waiting to stab you in the back. Only this time, quite literally._

I almost laugh at my own words. I wonder if the tributes have realised the severity of the situation? The chariots was all fun and games, but the true danger lies in wait. Most of them will die quickly, some will suffer, and all because our own, fucked-up, lying country can't get over the fact that people want to be different and to have voices, not be prisoners in their own homes.

I wait in silence, straining my hearing. Crispin's heavy thuds take him to his behind. Anastasia's more nimble ones do the same. With everyone in their rooms, I make myself more comfortable.

My eyelids soon grow heavy. Facing the door, I allow myself to finally sleep.

The arena won't be much different to District Twelve. And I've lived that arena for seventeen years now. It all depends on whether I want to return to it or not.

* * *

**Seth Patreli, District Eight Male.**

* * *

By the time that Chiffon knocks on my door, I'm already awake, pacing the length of my room. She doesn't quit though, rapping her knuckles two more times. "Seth!"

"Just a minute!" I call back, pausing just metres from the door.

I'm totally not ready for this. I breathe heavily, adjusting the uniform, rubbing my thumb over the stitched '_8_' on my shoulder. Then, I open it up, meeting Chiffon's kind face. As much as it makes me feel nervous, I force my smile to broaden.

Chiffon doesn't say anything. She simply offers her hand.

"You're okay there," I straighten my back, telling myself to be strong. "Is Amery up yet?"

"Already at breakfast," Chiffon answers. "Seth, you don't have to-"

"Great, I'm starving!" I brush past her before she can finish that sentence, only nailing the nerves into my chest permanently. If I ignore her, ignore the frightful screams in my head that I'll die before I've even lived, then everything will be fine.

I can be strong. I know I can.

At the table, Tweed and Amery talk loudly, each smiling as wide as can be. I slip into the seat next to Amery, pulling a muffin over to my plate. Amery turns, the smile softening. "Did you want to stay with me today, rather than go in alone?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine, thanks," I pause, though, ripping the crust off of the muffin. "But if you'd want to tag along with me - rather than be alone - then I'd be okay with that."

Part of me wants her to decline. But secretly - well, not so secretly - I cross my fingers that Amery will say yes. I don't want to be alone, but I don't want people to think of me as weak. The other tributes will see me as easy-pickings being the youngest. If I could show them, though, that I'm capable, then my chances might increase.

Amery's soft smile is still visible in the corner of my eye. She even lightly giggles "I'd love to, Seth."

I smile it away, pretending that I'm not interested when all I want to do is sigh in relief. The minutes pass. I can't stop looking at the clock, willing it to just freeze on the spot.

Chiffon rises. "I think you two need to go down now," she smiles. "I wish the pair of you so, so much luck."

I stand beside Amery, feeling my stomach knot. Amery gives Chiffon a brief hug as we walk to the elevator. When the doors shut, I feel like someone has their hands wrapped around my throat, choking the life out of me.

"Seth?"

I hum, looking up. "You okay, Amery?"

Her face looks so caring, eyes bright and kind. "You don't have to pretend to be tough in front of me. I won't judge you if you're scared. I'm terrified..."

A lump forms in my throat. I try to swallow it away, but it keeps coming back, keeps reminding me of the fear and confusion that's always held me down. "I'm not scared," I spit. "I'm fine. I'm brave enough for this. People who are scared die early, Amery, and I'm not scared."

Despite the words, Amery still manages to smile softly. "It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself more than me."

I swallow thickly, feeling the walls close in around me. My lips move, but nothing comes out. Amery doesn't move her eyes from my face. When the doors open, she steps out slowly, looking over her shoulder at me through her matted hair. I shake away the thoughts and stand ramrod straight, brushing past her.

"You can come with me if you want," I pause to comment. "But don't feel like you need to protect me, cause you don't."

I don't need anyone to look after me. I'm not weak. I'm not cowardly. I'm not like every other little kid that's walked through these doors, crying and shaking like puppy dogs. No, I'm brave. I'm strong. I don't need help.

But as I stand in the circle with the other tributes, everyone taller and broader and older, I feel smaller than ever.

* * *

**Saraide Thalassa, District One Female.**

* * *

When the man - Maestro - gives us the nod, everyone scatters. I watch as clusters of tributes head for the weapons and courses, stations packed high with useful gear. Jet doesn't leave my side either.

"Why don't you try and use the ropes and survival kits? It'd be handy to have a medic." Jet suggests.

I acknowledge his words, only nodding myself. "I'm more for the weapons, if you don't mind."

Jet's face blanches a little. "Are you sure? I'd hate for you to feel... overwhelmed, or something, in case you find it too heavy or hard to handle."

"I'm perfectly capable of wielding both rapiers at the same time." I answer, walking towards the weapons. Jet follows, his curiosity obviously piqued. My chest tightens at the awkwardness. I was hoping he'd walk away, rather than making me keep talking to him.

"You can handle both?" Jet sounds unsure. "Maybe you should just stick with one..."

I take both anyway. If I bother him that much, then maybe he might walk away. It'd be a lot easier. I brandish the weapons, moving to the cotton dummies. I feel the burning stare in the back of my skull - reminiscent of Father - as I prepare myself for the kill. I grit my teeth, and move swiftly. With graceful movements, I pull back the left arm as I jab with the right, bringing the left over the top at the neck, making two separate cuts at the same time.

I hear a clap, and when I turn around, Indra Marella is stood by Jet's side. Begrudgingly, I go back to them.

"I'm impressed," Indra smiles, giving Jet a hard glare. "I don't think certain people believed you could do it," she emphasises that, still staring at Jet's hardened jaw. "I guess you've trained well?"

"Since I could walk." I answer.

They both seem shocked at that. "When could you walk?" Indra asks.

"Three," I answer smoothly once more. Father would always tell me to lie about my training, mainly so I could gain the scholarship. But that's all over now. And if I don't answer, my silence will rouse suspicion against me. "I trained hard for this."

"We all did," Jet smiles. "But everyone has different paths. You shouldn't always do what people want you to do."

Indra snorts, but doesn't say anything like I expect her to. I nod. "I know. I wanted this."

I don't feel comfortable. I feel torn. Part of me feels I need to be here, sharing the world and everything with them, but the other part of me just wants to escape the pressure. Being on that chariot almost suffocated me. All those faces, those eyes, I didn't know what to do. Carnelian told me to smile. It felt impossible.

I hear more footsteps. Over their heads, Claudio Saxon and Daira Lamotte approach, her arms draped over his. The knot in my stomach tightens even further. More people.

"Claudio, Daira," Indra smiles, nodding her head as she greets them. She speaks so fluently, so confident... I'd never be able to do that. Not to strangers, at least. "Where's your brother?"

Daira smiles coyly. I can see that twinkle in her eyes. It's the same twinkle that Father had before training. I keep my grip locked on the rapiers, eager to go back to training. "About that..." she trails off. "Dorian isn't joining the alliance."

"You're removing your own brother?" Jet sounds confused.

"He'd be a great asset," Indra adds on. "Why?"

"He's... he's different than you all think," Daira smiles it away. "It's easier for the pair of us."

Dorian is easily seen in the background. Our eyes meet, and he instantly looks away, blending back into the shadows. He hasn't made an effort at all. I move my eyes to Daira, who plays carefully on Claudio's arm.

Indra raises an eyebrow. "Does he know?"

"Not yet," she answers. "But I think it's plain to see that he doesn't want to know you lot. He doesn't care. He only volunteered because he's retarded, and didn't think it through. It's just a lot easier."

No-one questions her. I look over my shoulder, longing for the solace of training, away from these politics. Even the siblings don't trust each other. There will be no friends in this alliance, even if I secretly wished that I could've found someone to understand me.

With everything sorted, I peel myself from the others, and returning to the silence of training. No-one approaches me. The other tributes steer clear, fearful as I carve and mutilate the dummy into shreds.

I won't hold back. I was made for this, and nothing will get in my way of completing my birth task.

* * *

**Kai Clematis, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

I step back, watching Josiah take hold of the knife. He weighs it in his hand, muttering to himself about something.

"What is it?" I frown. "It can't be heavy. You obviously lift sheep in your spare time."

Josiah laughs dryly at that. "I'd say that's racism, but no, I'm not saying it's heavy. I'm checking the density. You want a weapon that's level and concise, and easy to use. Enough to make a dent without wasting too much energy."

I nod along. "I knew that. That's why I'm going for a harpoon."

Josiah looks up, raising an eyebrow. "A harpoon? Isn't that against the unspoken rules?"

I can't help but laugh at that. "No, it's not," I look over at the direction, feeling the pressure weigh heavily on my shoulders. "It's the perfect item for my height and weight. That, and I'm sure it looks pretty cool."

So far, working with Josiah hasn't been bad. His offering after the chariots was sceptical. I mean, it was so soon, and he was declaring an invitation? It felt strange. It felt like a trap. But now I see why. We have the best shot out of the tributes, bar Careers. As horrible as it sounds, the stronger tributes should pair up, or stay entirely alone.

Josiah takes the knife and approaches the cotton dummy. With a careful aim, he forces it through the throat, red feathers being spat out.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to try my weapon." I smile, before stepping away. I doubt he hears me, but it doesn't matter.

I cross the room swiftly, tunnel-visioned for that one weapon. I grasp the cool exterior and hook it off. The trainer behind the counter, though, looks worried. "Kid, that isn't for you."

"So everyone says," I smile. "But I have confidence in myself. It can't be hard, right?"

The trainer doesn't let it go though. He moves around the counter quickly, grabbing the other end of the harpoon. "I have to advise against it, kid."

Normally, I respect people who stand up for their opinions. But his words only piss me off. Kid particularly bugs me. I narrow my eyes, refusing to let go. "Yeah, well, you're only advising it, not telling me anything. I know me better than you do," I yank it from his grip, feeling my cheeks warm up. "I'm trying it, and you can't stop me."

The trainer glares, but stays quiet. I step away, eyeing him carefully as I approach the mark on the floor, lining up my feet. I take a deep breath, raising the weapon in an attempt to guess how to use it. _You can do it, Kai. You've never let anything stop you before. You master everything. Do it. Throw. _I launch the harpoon with my eyes shut. I wait and wait, until I hear the metal clatter against the floor.

"Ha!" I hear a bark of laughter. I spin around, fingers twitching in anger. "I told you, kid. Leave it to the professionals. You're suppose to aim, not just throw. It's a complex weapon for someone of your calibre."

It's like a blow to my chest that blossoms into fury. I clench my fists, but the voice in my head tells me to let it go. I won't see him after a few more days. Josiah is suddenly there, though, in the corner of my vision, observing.

For him also, I let it go. I'm too busy trying to make a decent impression to solidify an alliance. "Sure," I grit my teeth. "I suppose you can train me on it tomorrow. I'll be here first."

I move before the trainer can respond and make it worse. I quickly approach Josiah instead, who hands hold onto his biceps.

"Almost lose your temper?" Josiah challenges, raising a thick eyebrow.

"No," I quickly retort. "I'm just... I hate it when people think I'm not good enough. What do they know about me? I could've trained, and he wouldn't have known. He judged me. And I hate it when someone judges me."

More so, I hate the sting of failure. I hate failing. It's like knowing you're useless, not up to scratch with the people who've mastered it. I want to be perfect, is that a crime? I don't see it as a crime. I see it as a deep-rooted determination on my behalf. To become better. To become stronger.

Josiah only nods, though. "I understand. Well, I guess it's a good thing we have two more days, huh?"

I nod, slightly deflated. "Just peachy."

* * *

**Lumina Moseley, District Five Female.**

* * *

I don't know what to do.

I bite down on my bottom lip. There's too many choices. I could train with weapons like all the other cool kids, or I can go into survival, which might not even be helpful when it comes down to it. There's so many different options, and I hate it. I hate the decisions.

Still, I smile, brushing past the knives and heading straight towards the books.

Knowledge is always useful.

"Can I have that book?" I ask the trainer. He nods, handing me the thick ledger, a layer of dust on top. I can tell no-one likes to read around here.

I accept it and sit down, crossing my legs underneath me. I flick through the first few pages, not really paying attention. Now, I can see why no-one has bothered with this. It's so boring. It's jumbled text and no pictures. I find visual aid helpful. I stand back up, placing it on the table.

My eyes flicker to the clock. I only have an hour left of training, and I've done nothing. Absolutely nothing. Oh, when Solar finds out, he'll throw a book at me... just hopefully not that one.

I hold back a snort. I guess you have to learn to laugh in these situations. Laughter is the best medicine, after all.

Then, I catch something out the corner of my eyes. Lyndon from District Seven. When I turn to him, plastering a bright, white smile on my face, he quickly shies away. Oh no, he doesn't get away that easy! I cross the room swiftly, placing myself right up into his personal space.

"I saw you looking," I sway on the balls of my feet, desperate to stare into his eyes. "You can look at me, you know. I'm not dangerous. I'm hilarious, but not dangerous," I laugh lightly. He still doesn't bite. "Can I spend some time on this station with you?"

He nods. "If you want to."

"Thanks, Lyndon."

He looks up finally. "...how'd you know my name?"

I smile. "It's rude not to know names. I'm Lumina, since I take it that you don't know mine."

He acknowledges it with a nod, but nothing else. "Thanks."

Saddling myself up next to him, I watch as he flicks through the index of the poisonous items. I mimic his actions, just to make him believe that I'm doing it for me, and not him. But truthfully, I need an ally. And Lyndon just seems to that socially awkward kid that I've always wanted to embarrass and befriend.

Then, he notices me not doing anything. He looks at me from the corner of his eye, sly and sneaky.

"Hey, Lyndon?" I smirk.

He doesn't meet my eyes, but hums a response.

I take that as my cue. "Asking for allies is pretty stupid at this moment in time," I pause, studying his chubby cheeks and how freaking tanned they are. "But I was always told that two people are better than one. Train with me?"

There's a tense pause, before Lyndon moves his finger over the book. "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Of course it's not a good idea, but that's the fun of it all!" I grin. "There's no commitment. We just train together. Beats being alone with just your thoughts for company, don't you think?"

Lyndon nods slowly. "...I guess."

I hit my hand against the table in excitement. "Great!"

Lyndon slides the book along the table, putting it in between us. "We'll start with this," he says. "It's packed with useful information."

I don't question him. I'm just glad that he's accepting me, rather than walking away at first chance. I scan the words, digesting every single one of them. With Lyndon by my side, I'll continue to smile until someone forcibly removes my lips from my face.

* * *

**Ancyra Chepstow, District Three Female.**

* * *

"Did you make any allies?" Pixel's voice echoes around the room.

I look over the edge of the couch, seeing Cosmo sit down at the table. He shakes his head, looking downwards instead. The crestfallen look only pulls at my heartstrings, and I stand.

"I'm sure you'll find an ally soon, Cosmo," I reassure him, taking the seat next to him and placing my hand on his shoulder. "It's only been one day. I still have no-one either, but I'm not worried about it."

Unlike with most people, there's a certain quality to Cosmo that makes him different. I didn't notice it at first - the violent handshake was a mere stepping stone to my answer - but then it became clear at the chariots. He's socially awkward to an almost overbearing degree. He doesn't know how to interact. Sadly, that doesn't help him with allies... and I can't bring myself to do it either.

Cosmo looks up, teary-eyed and pouting almost. "Why won't you be my ally?"

I hear Pixel take a sharp breath. I smile slightly, keeping my hand on his shoulder. "We're too different. I... I want to be alone for this one. Or find someone more my age."

I rise from the seat before he can question it anymore, going back to the couch alongside Arjan. Cosmo mumbles something, before he's fleeing towards the exit in a mad dash. It takes everything for me not to follow him.

"He'll be fine," Arjan reassures me now, which only makes me feel worse. "He'll learn how to cope eventually."

I smile softly. "I hope so. He's too kind to be left alone."

The truth is that Cosmo is too kind. But no-one will risk it; I heard the explosive tantrum in his dressing room. That's when Arjan told me that it's better I don't invite him or lead him into an alliance. There's something desperately wrong with him, and I can't be caught in the crossfire of it.

Arjan moves across to the seat next to me. "Do you have any ideas for an alliance? I spoke to the mentors of Eight and Ten. Both mentioned their tributes might be a good match for you."

I swallow thickly. "...thank you."

I need to find beauty in it. Yeah, beauty. Life has been easy for me because I look to the future. I look for the blue skies and green grass, all to remind myself that there's more to life than the Hunger Games, the fear and the poverty around us. But it's so hard to do that in an environment that's determined to quash you into their ideal form.

Pixel soon leaves for bed. Cosmo's explosive scream echoes around the floor, but no-one rushes to his aid. "It's better to leave him to it," Arjan warns me once more. "He can be dangerous, Ancyra."

"I-"

"Trust me. Just don't." Arjan faintly smiles, before standing up. "I don't know as much as Pixel, but I know that emotional people are volatile, and volatile puts you into bad, bad situations."

I've never really viewed people like that. "Okay," I simply answer. "I'm... I'm going to stay out here for a while... I'm not tired just yet."

I make up the excuse and Arjan leaves. The silence suffocates me. But, I force myself to smile, because that's the best thing to do in this situation. I need to adapt, and I need to smile. I need someone to want me, need me, and everything will be the same as it was in District Three. Yeah, it'll be good. I just need to tick those things off my list once and for all.

Tomorrow, I find an ally... well, I find a candidate, and pray and wish they come to me.

I curl myself onto the couch, burying the cushion against my chest.

I miss home. I miss Dad. I miss Lyon and Mae.

I wish I could change things. I wish I could've... could've spent more time with Mom, and helped Dad with things and showed him that I loved him, that I never blamed him for her death or anything.

With tears in my eyes, I fall asleep, feeling as small and useless as ever.

And we still have four whole days left to go.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ demonswithin hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?**_

_**Any particular tribute that's not been seen - the other twelve - that you're curious to hear from?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**This is late, and I'm not making any promises for the next one. I'm seriously busy at the moment, so all of my schedules are skewed. I won't ever abandon this story - eight SYOTs under my belt, thank you very much - but I just ask for patience. The same goes for the readers of Sink or Swim. I'm writing, but much more slowly than I've ever done before.**

**Leaving that aside, here they are! Some are shorter. Some aren't as great. I tried to capture as much as possible, and set up any plots.**

**For now, the only confirmed alliance we have is Kai+Josiah. Everything else needs to be confirmed.**

**Next chapter, I'll confirm the list of alliances, and add it to the blog.**

**See you next chapter!**


	5. Brave

**Brave by Sara Bareilles.**

* * *

**Brave.**

_Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live. Maybe one of these days, you can let the light in._

* * *

**Elena Cortez, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

Two more days.

That's all I can think about. That, and finding an ally. That nice girl from District Eight - Amery - spoke to me. I didn't think she would, but she did. She was super nice and friendly. She seemed quirky, too, constantly ruffling her hair.

I'll make an even better impression today.

I nod to myself in the mirror, encouraging myself to be brave, to be smart. Talking with people have never been a problem with me. But these people will want me dead. I frown, my shoulders sagging, when a knock on the door reminds me of breakfast. I force myself to smile and seem happy as I leave my bedroom.

"Elena," Gypsy is quick to greet me warmly, a huge difference from yesterday's argument with Kane and Kai. "Did you want something to eat?"

Food is my greatest comfort. "Yes please!" I chirp, pulling the muffin and two pastries onto my plate. I need all the help I can get today.

Soon enough, Kane and Kai enter, talking suspiciously quiet. Kai sits down next to me, though, and politely pulls a glass of water in front of me.

"Remember to drink." he smiles.

I nod, taking the glass and downing it within seconds. I take a deep breath and smile again. "I'm nervous," I admit to the table. "I... people were staring at me yesterday."

Gypsy's face reddens. "Did anyone say anything to you?"

I feel the heat on my cheeks. "No," I smile. "I mean... I didn't know what to do, and everyone was eyeing me up. I loved the attention, I admit that, but it was... just weird. It was like I was meat or something."

"Ah, Chunky Monkey, it's nothing to be embarrassed about," Kane says kindly, but the words leave a resounding sting in my mind. "Just be you."

"I think that's obvious, Kane." Gypsy injects.

Kai hums, turning to face me. "You'll be fine. If needs be, come find me and Josiah. We'll stick near you if you're that worried."

I shake my head. "No thanks. And I'm not worried, I just don't like everyone staring at me when it's not for good reasons," I laugh awkwardly, finishing up my meal swiftly. "I'm... I'm gonna go down now."

I enter the elevator and jab the button. Gypsy waves me off. Kai mentions he'll be down later. In the silence, I thumb the many jagged lines over my wrist, feeling the bumps through my suit.

I'll just find Amery. She'll make me feel safe.

When the door opens up at the bottom, I stroll out with the biggest smile on my face, my chest hiding away any fears and locking them up. For me, I have to be confident. Because if I'm not confident, then I'm just the token fat tribute... and I won't let them make me that. With my hands on my hips, I enter the training centre, a totally different girl.

* * *

**Athalie Ivers, District Nine Female.**

* * *

The elevator doors open to the chaos of the training centre.

Kalle takes my hand almost instantly, and I snap my head to look at him. "What?" he shrugs. "It shows camaraderie. That, and people will assume we're a couple, and the jealousy will throw them off their training."

I smile lightly. Kalle is pretty weird. "You don't believe that."

"I don't," he laughs. "But oh well. I just wanted to do it. You seem nervous."

As we step out, I realise that I'm gripping him back as much as he's gripping me. "We've already done a training day without problems," I answer. "So no, I'm not really nervous... I just don't like the situation, is all."

"I hope you mean with the Hunger Games, and not me." Kalle eyes me suspiciously, but I push that aside straightaway.

"The former," I shake my head. "That, and you had every chance to just leave me and be with the Careers."

Right at the end of it all, they approached him. I felt sick to my stomach as they eyed me like worthless prey, looking down upon me. Kalle snorted and turned his back on them without an answer. I can't help but wonder whether they'll target us now for Kalle's blatant cold shoulder.

Kalle laughs. "And why would I want to play with the mutts, when I can dine with a pedigree?"

I cringe slightly at that. "Cheesy. But thank you, I guess..."

"No problem," Kalle smiles. "I mean it, though, when I say that I'd rather have you over the Careers. I can trust you. I can't trust them."

I want to say I feel the same, but the words die on my lips, and I simply nod. I just don't know if I fully trust Kalle yet. This isn't a place for anyone to trust one another. One winner, I keep reminding myself bitterly.

I push all of those thoughts away, though, and allow Kalle to lead me around to wherever he pleases, since I'm not particularly in the mood to take control.

After a while of settling into things, Kalle makes short work of the sickle practice. With precise movements, he targets the weak areas, and the sight of the red feathers make my stomach somersault. He steps over towards me, thrusting the sickle into my hands with a smile.

I push it back. "No." I shake my head vehemently.

"You need to try it!"

"Kalle, I really don't w-"

"-but you need to!"

"But no-"

The sickle suddenly misses Kalle's hands as he retracts them. My eyes widen as the sickle slips through, clattering hard against the floor, echoing out. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I swiftly grab it, shaking slightly. My head snaps for the trainers to see if they'll punish us, but they stay stagnant. I let out a deep sigh.

Kalle raises an eyebrow. "Calm down. You dropped it, it was an accident."

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. "If you say so," I whisper, pushing the item fully into your hands. "I said I didn't want it," I turn away from him, chest heaving. "I'm going to the rope course. I'll see you at lunch."

Kalle doesn't make chase after me. For some reason, I can't help but feel like I've disappointed him. He probably expected me to be this strange, dark, quiet girl full of mystery, when truthfully I'm gawky, unremarkable and frightened.

I've probably let him down.

Of course I have.

I shake my head as I approach the mammoth course, taking up most of the space in the middle, attached to the ceiling. I grip the first rope and place my foot on the bottom half. With the bell in sight, I take a deep breath, and scramble to the top to remind myself that, underneath it all, there is a determined bundle of fire that I've yet encountered.

And that bundle needs to be unwrapped... and fast.

* * *

**Jet Rinehart, District One Male.**

* * *

I watch out over the motley crew that's been brought together. Claudio trains on his own. Daira and Indra are talking quietly behind their hands, and then Saraide is on the sideline, looking in. When she looks at me, I smile and give her a wave, both of which she doesn't respond too.

My shoulders sag a little at that. No matter how hard I try, Saraide doesn't bite. I just want to see her smile. Unlike the others, Saraide feels too robotic to be human. It makes me highly suspicious if she is indeed in the right mindset for the future tasks.

I cross the floor swiftly, heading straight to her, in the middle of combat.

She immediately stops as I near. "Can I help you?" she says, emotionless.

"We'll be choosing our leader later," I smile. "Can I count on your vote?"

She seems confused for a moment, as if she doesn't know how to answer it at all, before nodding. "Carnelian told me that I should vote for you. You're the best candidate."

"But do you think I am the best candidate?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I believe I should vote for you."

I smile, not really buying it. "That'll do for me. I just don't want Indra or Daira to feel overwhelmed by the task, you know?"

Saraide nods. "I understand."

"Great!" I cheer. "Great, I'm glad we had this chat, Saraide."

"As am I."

I leave her to be almost instantly, though my gut twitches at the sound of her carving her dummy to pieces. Women shouldn't be doing that. They're the life and heart and soul of a family. They should be home, where it's safe, letting the men protect and provide for them. That's the way I want it. The way it should be. I don't even know why they would want to play in such a barbaric game.

For anyone - Indra, for instance, with her willowy frame - it'll involve a lot of blood, dirt and injuries. A woman shouldn't be into that. It makes me worried that they haven't thought this through.

I move to Claudio next, ignoring the protests in my head. Claudio says he won't vote, though, and there's no real point in talking to the ladies for voting, since their whispering has no doubt been about conspiracies.

I look over my shoulder and scan the room. We need someone to replace Dorian. Wait, the poor boy doesn't even know.

I spot Dorian instantly, lurking behind a station, his eyes creepily fixated on Daira and Indra.

With a bright smile on my face, I approach him. When he notices me, he straightens up almost instantly.

"Has Daira discussed the Career politics with you yet?" I quickly question. If Daira hasn't said something, then there's still a chance of keeping him in. We need him at this rate, since me and Claudio can't share all of the burdens.

He folds his arms behind his back. "She has not."

I smile. "Great. Just great. Well, we're voting soon, between me and Indra for leader. Can I count on your vote?"

Dorian's eyes, however, quickly harden. "Is Daira not running?"

"I believe not," I frown. "She really hasn't said anything to you at all, huh?"

After a bout of silence, I realise that he seems to have spaced out. I click my fingers in front of his face, but he seems lost to it. Then he comes back with a small startle. He doesn't say anything. He coldly steps around me, heading over to Daira. When he nears her, the tranquillity explodes in Daira screaming curse words at him, before storming off.

Indra turns around, and snarls. "You did something, didn't you?" she shouts across the room.

For once, though, I'm completely innocent. I shake my head and shrug. "I said nothing!" I shout back.

Indra growls. "Sleep with one eye open!"

I'll never get through to her. She doesn't realise how dangerous and violent this sport is. She could get hurt. Saraide and Daira too. I'm only trying to help them, show them that they can just make the food at camp whilst me and the guys hunt down the tributes.

We'll be like a tribe.

But they just don't understand. As the years go by, I'm almost sure that Career girls are getting more bloodthirsty and volatile. It's not exactly marriage material, in my opinion. Why would they do that to themselves?

But I'll make them understand.

* * *

**Merona Rosales, District Ten Female.**

* * *

Using my thumb, I loop the rope between my fingers and through the knot, tightening it with my other hand. I make short work of the rest of the length, before placing the finished piece onto the table.

The trainer smiles brightly. "That's rather impressive."

"Thank you," I nod, smiling ever-so-slightly. "Is there anything else you can teach me, that you might deem important?"

She only shakes her head. "I've taught you everything, and you've mastered it all too. I have nothing left for you, my dear," she jerks her head in the direction of Ancyra Chepstow, who watches with a curious eye. "I believe you have an admirer."

The thought makes my chest tighten. I nod politely, stepping away and moving to the electronic hunter station. When my finger taps the button and the picture of the rabbit comes up, I sigh, slowly pointing out the points on where to cut and kill the animal. That's when I feel the heat on my cheeks, as if I'm being watched.

I look over my shoulder instantly, catching Ancyra's eyes training on me once more. She quickly looks away, but it's already been noticed. I shift uncomfortably, forcing myself deeper into the work, perfectly answering for a deer, boar, and even a flightless bird. When the sight of a horse comes up, I freeze in my tracks. My finger moves over the horse's mane, admiring it. It's almost like the ponies from home.

My chest tightens even more, and I look away and press _exit _before I feel even more sick.

I might never see a real one again. I didn't bother to look at the chariots - I was too focused on presenting myself in the best way possible. Needless to say that, according to Josiah, I didn't do too well. I can't help but feel as if I've signed my own death certificate.

"Hi," I spin around at the voice, clenching my fists in nerves. I eye Ancyra up from head-to-toe. "I'm Ancyra."

"Merona." I manage to squeak, smiling politely.

I don't want to be here. I want to be in my fields and pastures. You never realise what you miss until it's too late.

"Sorry, about watching you, that is," Ancyra lightly smiles. "I just saw how well you handled the ropes, and... and my mentor mentioned that our mentors spoke about an alliance."

I nod knowingly. Macaulay only breezed over the idea.

"Do you think we could?" Ancyra's eyes light up with hope. It makes it that much harder. "I'm... decent with a boomerang. I haven't really tried it that much, but you know, if it comes back to you, it's a good weapon, right?"

I nod again. I don't know what to say. My lips are chapped, my tongue frozen on the roof of my mouth. Even if I wanted to, I just couldn't. My silence, however, only seems to encourage Ancyra to sell herself. _Stop it, _I wish internally. _It'll never work. One winner! One winner!_

"I can show you!" she chirps. Then, for a brief moment, she becomes completely serious. "...please, let me show you."

Something in my gut protests, but my head nods for me, and I blindly follow Ancyra to her station. Deep inside, though, a part of me hopes for the better sight of it all. I want to be optimistic - to find some sort of hope in it all - but it's hard to do that with the seriousness of it all weighing on my shoulders. I feel like I've matured far beyond my years, and I'm not ready.

I just want to be a kid. A free, fun-loving, adventurous kid... not a murderer.

Ancyra grips the boomerang, flashing the teeth on it to me. "Ready?"

And, for some reason, a weight falls off of my chest. "Ready." I smile, only half-true.

Because a half-truthful smile is better than a constant frown.

* * *

**Morgan Vos, District Six Male.**

* * *

When the trainer sees me approach, she nods with a smile, and jabs a button. The running track comes to life under her fingertips.

Without waiting for her command, I jump on, going straight into a sprint. I pump my arms and legs, keeping in time with the movements of the track. Sweat begins to build on my brow, slick on my back. I keep going until I feel my chest constrict, and hop off.

The trainer calls me over to show my time. When I glance at the rating, I shrug it off, which causes her to frown. "Aren't you pleased with that?"

I shrug again, wiping my forehead. "I suppose so."

She taps a few buttons, and the small, electronic board nearby lights up with my name, district, and timing. I suppose it's okay, but it's not like anyone would actually remember me. Aston mentioned that it was an advantage, being forgettable - I suppose I can see the light side of it. With a slight smile, I step away.

"That's not bad," A voice catches my attention, and when I turn around, Josiah Kirsche's eyes are focused on me. "I mean, there's always room for improvement, but I'd say that's enough to keep everyone on their toes."

I blink a few times. Why is he bothering to talk to me?

Then suddenly, Kai Clematis is by his side, smiling also. "We've been watching you." Kai smirks.

Maybe this is where they bully me. I straighten my back, prepared for whatever they're going to throw at me. "I see." I answer.

"Would you like to join our alliance?" Josiah soon asks.

The question makes my stomach twist. An alliance? It completely goes against whatever I had resigned myself to. I thought that no-one would remember me - that, even around Britannia, her snark overshadows me - and I had prepared myself to be a loner. After all, Aston said it was my greatest strength.

"I'll have to pass," I quickly answer, going on my gut instinct. "Thanks for the offer."

As I move around both Josiah and Kai, though, someone grasps my wrist and keeps me in place. I spin around defensively, stepping back from the pair of them. Josiah frowns slightly, eyes bright. "You're... declining us?"

It's not that I want to. I want to say yes more than anything, to be a part of something bigger than just me. But then it doesn't feel right. My gut screams in protest.

"Your silence speaks volumes," Kai teases. "You don't have to answer now. You can answer tomorrow, if you want. We don't want to pressure you."

I hum, unable to process the idea that someone would want me. "Indeed," Josiah adds, stepping in front of Kai ever-so-slightly. I make sure to notice that, where one tries to assert himself to the other. "Take your time. Just not too long... we don't have forever." he laughs dryly.

"I'll make sure to note that. Thanks again." I answer, before turning around and walking away before either can try and sell themselves more.

I guess the prospects wouldn't be bad. I'd be able to sleep, have someone watch over me, share the pain with... a friend, perhaps. But at the same time, I'll have someone who might stab me in the back, possible emotional pain, a hindrance in my step. I might not have a lot to go home too - parents who are pretty much non-existant in my life - but if I had the chance, a do-over, then I would try harder.

I want that opportunity. I deserve that opportunity.

I can't resign myself to death too soon.

Before I can think about it, I spin around, rushing over to Josiah and Kai as they make their way towards the dummies, weapons in hand. When I near, they turn around at the noise.

"Yeah?" Josiah starts.

"I'll accept." I answer, before it's too late.

Kai smiles. "Are you positive?"

No. I'm never positive. I always think of the worst outcome because that's just what I am. But, I offer a small smile and a short nod. "Yes."

* * *

**Dorian Lamotte, District Two Male.**

* * *

"You heard me," Daira repeats again and again, words that can't be true. "Nobody wants you in the alliance."

It's like the whole world closes in around me. "That's a lie," I choke. "...what about you?"

Daira turns around coldly. "I don't want you either. You made your bed, now lie in it."

She moves to walk away, but I quickly grasp her wrist, pulling her back to me. That beautiful, enchanting smile on her face turns into the dirtiest of scowls, and she screams as I force her into a hug. She punches and squirms against my chest, but I hold on tight, closing my eyes and remembering the good times we had, when she made me feel more human.

She pulls back, and her hand comes flying for my face. This time, though, I'm prepared, and dodge the brutal slap. "Daira... please..." I plead, but the truth lies in front of us.

"Never," she hisses, voice dangerously low. "You made the biggest mistake of your life when you volunteered. I would've won, would've come back to you! Now there's no way it'll work out!"

"I can protect you!" I shout. _I'll do anything and everything for you, dear sister..._

Her face blossoms red. "I don't need protecting!" she harshly shoves me, and I stumble backwards, a whirlwind of emotions spinning through my mind. "I don't need you!"

The door coldly slams in my face, and Daira's gone.

My Daira is gone.

I knew it would happen as she grew up, blossomed into the beautiful woman that she is now. She would change, but I always clung onto the hope that she'd forever be the doe-eyed, bouncing girl that thought her brother was the greatest man alive. And when she aged, my dream shattered.

I step away from the door, heartbroken. I can't even force myself to be angry. I walk around the floor in silence, hearing the repeat of her words over and over in my mind, bouncing around.

"Hey."

I turn sharply to Cadmus' voice. He doesn't look so happy. Then again, he wouldn't understand with a corpse for a brother.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Cadmus offers.

"No." I reply coldly.

Cadmus snorts. "I think you don't understand the consequences of your actions then."

I eye the man up - his curls and icy blue eyes - before settling on his nose. "I fully understand." I answer straight.

He only seems to revel in the challenge. "Oh, and how is that? You'll die, or your sister will die, or you'll both die. And what about your parents? Do they not matter at all to you?"

A sharp pain shoots through my chest. "My sister is the most important person to me," I answer flatly. "I will not let anyone harm her."

"And what about you?"

I shift uncomfortably. "What about me?"

"Do you not care for your own survival? Or is this some sick test that your parents pushed you into? Did Daira make you her personal meat shield?" Cadmus questions, each word flying through one ear and out the other.

I don't care for my own being. Just her. It's always been her. "This conversation is over." I step around the man, aiming for my bedroom. I reach it and close the door before Cadmus can try and interrogate me any further.

I don't bother to sleep. I let the hours tick by, focused entirely on my clock until midnight soon comes and disappears, the early dusk settling in. I rise silently, slip through the door, and open up Daira's without a single noise. Through the muted light, her sleeping form moves up and down slowly, and I slip into her room, unnoticed.

"I will not let anyone harm you," I smile softly, staring down at the matted hair against her forehead. "Baby sister... you'll become the Victor you've always wanted to be."

I won't let anything happen to her. That's my promise.

Silently, I leave her room as if I was never there, retreating to my own for a few hours of sleep before tomorrow. If I'm not in that alliance, then that is fine. I don't care for any of them anyway. They're merely obstacles. But, I won't leave her alone. They'll turn on her the second it becomes available. No, I might not be in that alliance, but Daira will never leave my sight.

That's another one of my promises.

* * *

**Amery Caulan, District Eight Female.**

* * *

The moment the sun hits the window, my eyes burst open. I lay there for a few moments, enjoying the warm glow, just thinking and breathing. For a brief moment, I manage to trick myself into believing that I'm not in the Capitol at all, but rather home, under a bundle of dirty blankets.

The moment of bliss is stolen from me, though, as the window transforms into the bustling streets of the Capitol, loud and abrupt.

A knock at the door makes it even worse. I sigh, pulling myself out of bed at Chiffon's insistent calls. I swiftly dress myself and run a comb from my hair, before giving up and letting it sit like a bird's nest on my head.

I enter the main room silently, smiling kindly at Chiffon who pushes out a seat for me.

I take it gratefully, scooping up a scone. "Is Seth still asleep?" I ask, buttering the food.

"He mumbled, so at least I know he's there," Chiffon answers, tapping the rim of her coffee mug. "I was worried that he might've tried to escape last night. He... I heard him sobbing, and he wouldn't answer when I knocked."

I smile sadly. "He's trying too hard to be strong."

"And what about you, dear? You've not said two words about your own feelings"

"I'm fine," I wave it away, ignoring the pang in my chest. "Dealing with Seth is more important. He's so young and scared, and he's bottling everything up."

Chiffon hums. "Sounds like someone else."

"Nope," I smile hesitantly, still buttering the scone until the knife slowly slides through the pastry. I set it all down, before biting into the scone. I swallow, and smile again. "I'm worried about Seth. And so should you. I'll be fine. I've... I've accepted it already."

A few moments later, Tweed drags Seth from his room. He comes out practically digging in his heels. Tweed puts him in his place next to me, before rushing away to answer a phone call from home. Seth does nothing at the table. He thumbs around the corn in his bowl, avoiding our eyes.

"Did you want to talk, Seth?" Chiffon asks again.

Seth scoffs. "Talking is for babies. I'm fine," he looks up. "...I just didn't get a lot of asleep."

"I think someone was crying," I place the offer out there, but Seth turns at me sharply. I shrug nonchalantly, feeling a little discouraged at his unwillingness to open up. "Guess it must've been my imagination."

"As I said, I'm fine, just grouchy," Seth smiles softly, before rising. "I'll get ready, and then I'll go down with you, Amery, okay?"

I smile into my milk. "No problem."

He reminds me of my brother, Dakota. Very much thinking he's indestructible, accompanied with bounties of attitude. I guess that's why Seth has grown on me. It's like having my own brother with me, and the maternal need to smother him has blossomed.

When Seth returns, I give Chiffon a slight hug and call goodbye to Tweed, before entering the elevator alongside Seth.

"Are we hanging around with the fat girl again?"

"Don't be rude," I retort sharply. I frown, looking at him. "Elena is sweet, and you shouldn't define her by her looks alone."

"Is that why you don't call them Careers?" he asks quietly.

I smile lightly, turn to face ahead. "They're still human beings. I'm not going to dehumanize them with a name," I answer. "If you don't call them Careers, they aren't that terrifying. It's a scare tactic."

Seth's quite for a moment as the elevator zooms past floor upon floor. Finally, he coughs. "And you aren't scared?"

I swallow thickly. I'm absolutely petrified. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill for the right to live. It's all disgusting and inhumane. But for Seth and Elena, I can't let it be known. I have to help them. So, I shake my head.

"Not if I have you guys with me." I answer softly.

* * *

**Anastasia Marrel, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

The elevator doors open, and Draconis briskly leaves without a single word. He's like a man on a mission, slinking towards the back of the large room, back to his shadows.

He's so mysterious. And weird.

Unlike Draconis, I don't leave with much purpose, trailing aimlessly along the first set of stations, running my fingers through the scattered leaves and through the ropes. My eyes wander to the tributes around me. Everyone is busy, in groups, rarely a single person alone. My stomach twitches at the reminder of being alone. No, alone is safe. Alone is good. I'm the freak volunteer, after all. No-one will understand why I did it.

Eventually, I settle on the rope course, climbing up fast and nimble, treating it like the old willow in my backyard. My fingers reach for the bell, just as another person appears opposite me.

Cosmo Fleming. District Three.

I stare at his goofy smile with hard eyes. "Hi," he squeaks. "You can have the bell. Or we can shake it together, if you'd like."

I recoil my hand. "You can have it." I answer, already descending when I hear the bell chime, and his scrambling feet against the ropes. He moves swiftly through the course, landing himself directly by my side.

My stomach does a little flip at the close proximity and his unbalanced smile, a cross between a smirk and a grin. "Can I hang around with you?" he asks.

"Sorry," I swallow thickly. "I'm busy."

He instantly looks hurt. "But... you're alone."

Something about him doesn't feel right. That uncomfortable sensation that my Step-Mom would bring comes back, swirling around my chest, making it tight. I smile wryly, slowing lowering myself to the floor. "I have an ally," I lie, looking out the corner of my eye at Britannia Bucker, idly nearby. My mind clicks, and I look up and smile. "She's just over there. I wanted to show her what I can do."

Cosmo doesn't leave it. He eyes me curiously. "She doesn't seem like your ally."

"She is," I laugh awkwardly, stepping back. "I... I must be getting back to her now."

Without thinking - and knowing, deep down, that the girl doesn't even look friendly, more so a rabid dog ready to snap - I throw my arm around her shoulder. She glowers, shrugging me off and spinning around.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses.

Over her shoulder, Cosmo is still watching. Shit. I smile and lean forward. "Help me." I whisper.

"I understand that we're all in this together and shit, but that doesn't mean we're suddenly friends and you suddenly know me." Britannia continues.

I stare hard. "Listen here, punk," I grit my teeth. "You're not the only one who might die. Get that through your skull, and then your attitude, and do a good deed for once in your life and pretend that we're allies."

Britannia stares over her shoulder at Cosmo - who waves in that silly, childish way he seems prone of - before looking back. "Aw, does someone have a new best friend that they think, are like, so totally out of season?" she mocks, lips peeled into a smirk.

I narrow my eyes. "Please." I choke.

Britannia, after a little while of my stomach somersaulting and her lips telling me that she's going to out me, finally concedes. "Sure... ally," she says deliberately, hooking her arm through mine playfully. "Let's go and paint each others' nails!"

She leads me away and Cosmo's disinterest lets a sudden wave of relief through my body. I snatch my arm back, stepping back. "I'm glad that you seem half-decent compared to your looks."

"You owe me." Britannia answers.

"And what do you want, your highness?" I raise an eyebrow.

The lunch bell suddenly chimes, everyone looking up at the imaginary item. Britannia looks back down and smiles. "You can buy me lunch. Or, you know, just collect it for me so I can get the good bench for once."

She doesn't give me an answer. She slides into the crowd of tributes heading for the canteen. For reasons unexplained - even I can't work out - I do just that. Because the solace of having someone seems less daunting than having no-one, even if that person proves to drive me mad.

* * *

**Uriah Quick, District Five Male.**

* * *

I sit down at the lunch table alone, watching as the other tributes walk in casually, in their alliances and pairs. I bite my lip, thumbing the spoon around the edge of the broth.

There's still so much left to decide. I haven't picked a weapon yet, nor what kind of survival gear I need. There's too many options. I could handle a knife, which is simple and effective, but then that requires I get up close, and against any other tribute, I could easily be overpowered. And then there's a spear, but I'm not that great with aim. Archery is an option, but I haven't practised with it, and there isn't any time left to try.

I sigh, pulling the spoon of broth into my mouth. I chew slowly and purposely, still looking at the other tributes.

And I would've loved an alliance.

My whole body deflates, and I resign myself to the bustle of the canteen, all whilst I sit in silence.

A few hushed whispers make me look up. The table opposite of me holds the pair from District Eight - Seth and Amery - and the District Eleven girl. The latter looks at me with bright eyes and a kind smile, waving me over with her hand.

I shake my head and mouth an apology, looking back down at my food. But that doesn't stop her. I hear her move, and then she's sitting down on the bench opposite me, her round face popping up in my view.

"I'm Elena," she says sweetly. "And you're Uriah, right? You look lonely. Did'ya want to come and sit with us instead?"

I curl into myself a little, looking anywhere but her eyes. "I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

She hits her hands against the table. "Come on! We have to stick together!"

I open my mouth to say no once more, but her hands grab the bowl, dragging it to her side. She stands up with my bowl in her hands, and I frown. "What are you doing?" I ask quietly.

"Forcing you to come to us," she grins. "Now come!"

Without waiting for an answer, Elena throws the bowl of broth down onto the table, startling her allies. They both look over their shoulders at me; Amery with her smile, Seth with a resounding glare. Both of which makes me uncomfortable. Having no other option - and still seeing Elena bouncing up and down on her seat - I rise, keeping to myself as I slide into the seat next to Elena.

"Welcome," Amery smiles. "I'm Amery. And this is Seth, but ignore him, he's going through puberty and having an off day."

Seth's mouth falls open. "I'm fine."

He doesn't sound it.

I try to offer a kind smile, but it must come off as awkward, cause Amery chuckles. "Uriah," I nod. "District Five." I state my district, something that Solar said I should always do when meeting the other tributes.

I place my hands in my lap as Elena pushes the broth in front of me. "Do you not have an alliance, Uriah?" Elena asks.

I shake my head. "Nope... I haven't found anyone..."

Amery's hand slides across the table, palm up, almost like a gesture. "You're more than welcome to join us. Isn't that right, Seth?"

Seth just nods silently. His little scowl, however, doesn't go missed. Elena brightly perks up, though. "And I definitely agree! There's always strength in numbers!"

I feel like it's a blessing in disguise. That, and a little uncomfortable. "Thank you... I... I'd love to," I answer kindly, still thumbing the broth. "...if you'll have me, that is."

"I wouldn't have hunted you down if we didn't," Elena replies, nudging me. "So... welcome to the team, Uriah. We promise to be really good friends!"

Friends. The word burns in my skull. Friends aren't great allies. They're nice, you feel comfortable, but it might not be that productive. At the same time, though, I can't afford to be too fussy. No-one else is jumping for my help. I'm practically a wallflower, hidden, forgotten.

And maybe that's a good thing. Only time will tell.

* * *

**Indra Marella, District Four Female.**

* * *

When the bell chimes, I rise, taking Daira with me.

"Where are you heading? We'll be voting soon." Jet asks.

I loop my arm through Daira's, smiling down at him in our rightful positions. "Weapons," I purposely mention. "We only have so long left, and I haven't cut nearly enough bitches." I smirk.

Jet's face crumples at the mention of me - a lovely, vibrant lady - handling such a weapon. But it's not his problem, it's mine, and well, there isn't a problem. With Daira by my side, we walk out of the canteen, but not before breezing past Dorian, sat in the corner. The sheer intensity in his glare at us makes my skin crawl. He doesn't look at Daira like a loving sister; he looks at her like a possession, one that's driven him mad.

I know that look. My Father wore that look everyday as he clung to our name.

I push the thoughts aside, smiling as we walk towards the selective weapons station. As Daira picks up her pack of knives, I grab the rondel.

Then I see Dorian again, watching from afar, never letting up.

"Are you positive that your brother isn't joining the alliance?" I comment, mindlessly watching him as I prepare the cotton dummy. "He seems... keen."

"I'll deal with my brother," Daira remarks rather harshly, tossing a knife at the dummy next to me. It lands squarely in his chest. "You just deal with Jet, and the multitude of problems he'll bring as leader."

"Ain't that the truth." I mumble, burying the rondel into the dummy's skull, red feathers spilling out over my hand.

If Jet claimed that role, he'll run us into the ground. Us "womenfolk" will be pot-washing, cleaning and cooking all day, whilst the men got to play with their toys and act like warriors to our damsel-in-distress. It isn't right. We're all equals here, apart from the reaped, of course.

As me and Daira clear out over fifteen dummies between us - awarding a clap from the nearby trainer - Jet soon comes over to damper my good mood. I feel like it'll be a common occurrence.

"Voting time, ladies," he says smoothly. "I hope they'll be no issues with the results."

Daira smiles kindly. "I'm sure we'll take it like big girls." she teases him.

"The big question is whether you want a tissue, or a serviette to wipe your eyes after I pummel your ass." I add with a smirk.

Jet scrunches up his nose. "You shouldn't speak so filthy."

Even so, he calls over Saraide and Claudio, both coming up with expressionless faces. When Claudio is near, I give him a soft smile, which he returns. I have both his and Daira's vote without question. Jet doesn't realise that he's already lost.

"Right, let's begin," Jet smiles at everyone separately, and I internally gag at his weak attempts for camaraderie. "Daira, can you start for us?."

"Certainly," Daira smiles wistfully. "I vote for Indra."

I smile triumphantly. "And I do also, obviously."

"I vote for Jet." Saraide manages to speak, the first time I've ever really heard her.

It lands on Claudio, whose torn face only makes my chest hiccup. "I... I'm not voting," he answers. "I vote for both."

"Not allowed." I can't help but glare.

"No no, Claudio can do what he likes," Jet joins in. "I vote myself. And, if I'm not mistaken, that means we're drawn."

I step forward, feeling betrayed. "Claudio has to vote. Everyone has to vote. Why should Claudio get special treatment?" I look at him, unable to hold the hurt on my face. I had this in the bag! "Claudio, vote!" I snap at him.

He shakes his head. "I can't. I'm sorry."

My body starts to shake from the anger and betrayal and sadness, all clouding together in my chest and making me feel sick. Jet moves forward, smiling sadly. "I guess that makes us a democracy. No leader, all equals."

_I didn't get what I want! _I shake internally.

"Everyone okay with that?" Jet smiles much brighter, smug, so confident and happy that a female never claimed a man's job. When everyone nods or murmurs in agreement, I want to slap every single one of them, Claudio in particular. Jet got in his head, made him a mindless soldier, just like Saraide.

I sigh, momentarily reminding myself that, in due time, everything will fall into place. I force a smile onto my face, just to show that they haven't won. "I'm fine with it," I speak up. "I'm sure that, as a team, we'll be great together... as equals," I purposely jab. "I can't wait for this to begin."

As I walk away, though, I let the anger plant a seed in my chest, just to remind me of everything I need - no, want - to accomplish.

* * *

**Cosmo Fleming, District Three Male.**

* * *

As I move towards Anastasia once more, she backs off, slinking back with her apparent ally, all away from me. I can't help but let it get to me. It creeps into my skull, nagging and burning, screaming everything I already know.

_No-one likes you. You're the weirdo. Strange. When you die, people won't even notice; they'll move on like you never existed, because you're pointless._

I squeeze my head, shaking it furiously. "No, no, no," I grit my teeth. "...it's not true...

Another tribute passes by me. I quickly remove my hands, offering a kind smile and a gentle wave, but they're already gone, running over to their other ally.

No-one wants to know me. Even Ancyra doesn't care. She says she does - pretends to be kind and nice - but she doesn't care. She's selfish. She's only concerned with her own safety, her own goals. And I'm alone. All alone. No-one will even give me the time of day, let alone a few minutes to speak. If they just let me speak, I could show them... show them that I'm a nice person...!

I move away from the station, deflated. Even the trainer is bored of me.

I aimlessly walk around, willing a hopeful, kind smile to appear on my face, though it won't appear. For the better part of half an hour, I stay alone, isolated, tucked away in the survival gear corner, amongst the rucksacks and boxes.

The bell chimes in the air. I look up, and the realisation finally sinks in.

Training is over. And not a single ally. Nobody wanted me. Nobody cared.

I'm really going into this alone. All alone.

I try not to let it get to me as I approach the elevator, idly scratching at the _3 _on my shoulder. I politely let the other tributes go before me, not that anyone notices or thanks me. At the back, though, I see the sight of Ancyra's dark hair, and my hope lifts just a little. I quickly steer back and wait for me, holding the elevator door open as her and her ally, Merona, enter.

"Hello Cosmo," she smiles. "Did you have a good day?"

I grin toothily. "It was great, thanks! How was your day?"

Her smile lessens a little. "It was okay... big day ahead of us tomorrow, with the private sessions and all. Are you nervous?"

Her ally shifts uncomfortably by her side, but I don't let that get to me either. It's no big deal. There's still a chance at the lovely ladies might need me. I step forward, looping my arm around Ancyra's shoulder and pulling her into my side. I feel her stiffen, but again, choose to ignore it. "I'll be fine. So will you, and you, Merona. You'll both do great...!"

The bell chimes and the door opens on our floor. Ancyra pries herself from me, giving Merona a slight handshake before entering the block. I wave enthusiastically at Merona as the door closes, but I think she doesn't see me.

Pixel and Arjan are there straightaway. Arjan takes Ancyra to the side, but Pixel stays rooted, smiling fondly at me with her famous notepad squished against her chest.

"How'd it go?" Pixel asks, hopeful. I have to shake my head though, feeling my chest constrict. She sighs, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry, Cosmo... maybe it's for the best that you're on your own. Allies only tend to cause more emotional pain."

I feel the tears behind my eyes, slowly welling up. "...maybe." I choke.

Her eyes turn from sad to worried. "Maybe some sleep will help you."

I can't control it. The tears slip free, and the anger quickly fills in the cracks.

"Sleep won't fix me!" I shout, storming past her and to my room. I slam the door and stomp to the nearby lamp - only recently replaced - and hurl it at the opposite wall. I toss the bedside table over, and proceed to rip the contents of my wardrobe, all whilst screaming and crying and the pain in my chest heaving over, and over, and over again until the air from my lungs stops, and I buckle on the floor, pounding it until my hand turns numb.

I just want somebody to like me, to at least be able to tolerate me...

I just wanted an ally...

And now I'm going to die all alone... like I've always lived.

* * *

**Lyndon Marrett, District Seven Male.**

* * *

The silence in the room speaks volumes for all of us.

Opax doesn't stop staring at the television. The screen shifts, showing the betting results on each of us, the odds of our survival. My chest tightens when I see my own name, listed down at the bottom. Even Lumina is above me, but only by two. My chest tightens for her, too. Quilow, on the other hand, is rather high, beating out a Career, and I let myself smile slightly at her luck.

"See that?" Opax mumbles, still not peeling his eyes away. "Quilow, do you see that?"

Quilow hums. "I do. I'm eighth."

I glance at her, pillow covering her chest, body sunken into the couch. Delphine is on the other side, mindlessly playing with the cuffs on her shirt.

Opax continues to hum at the screen. "They reckon we have a chance," he turns, staring straight at Delphine. "Do you think we could talk to the Chancellor, see if he'll back Lyndon?"

Delphine smiles shyly. "I'll get on it tomorrow morning."

They talk about me like I'm not even here. I know the situation - that they do care, in their own way - but it makes my head spin. I want to scream or cry or throw my fist against the wall, but I can't make a show... I can't do that to myself, or Quilow for that matter. We might not be allies, but I don't want to put her in jeopardy. She deserves every chance at victory, as do I.

After a while, Delphine retreats, and Opax shuts the television off. He smiles, bidding us goodnight. I look over at Quilow, expecting her to flee, but she doesn't.

I swallow thickly, trying to pull the words together. "Are you okay?" I manage to ask.

Quilow turns sharply, and nods silently.

I fiddle with my thumbs, leaning up into the seat. "You can... you can talk to me, if... if you want to..." I try and say, but I'm almost sure it comes out in a jumbled mess that makes me look even more pathetic than I already do.

"Thank you, Lyndon, but I'm okay. It's better if we distance ourselves anyway." she answers quietly, words soft.

I nod. "...if you're sure."

Quilow rises, and when I look through the muted light, I see the ghost of a sad smile. "I'm sure," she whispers and begins to walk away. "Goodnight, Lyndon."

"Night, Quilow," I choke out when she's practically gone.

I don't rush to bed like everyone else. I don't think I could sleep, even if I wanted to. So I sit alone on the couch, staring at the window and television and the floor, hearing the drum of my own heartbeat in my ears and my head.

For a brief moment, I even will myself to cry. I haven't cried yet. Not really, at least. I've choked and gone quiet, but it feels... odd. I want to cry. I want to scream and shout, and I still want to hit that wall in anger for how unfair it is that I'm reaped, that I have the highest chance of dying than surviving. But nothing happens. It's like my brain has already gone into panic mood, paralysing my emotions so I do nothing but think about the arena.

Cause that's all I've thought about. The arena. The different traps, ideas, methods. Even when I finally agreed to Lumina's alliance, I only thought of the benefit it'd have on me, and it made me sick to my stomach... but I stayed silent. Lumina done it out of kindness. I accepted it out of twisted self-preservation.

And even when I admit it to myself, I don't feel guilty. I feel sick, but not guilty.

My brain has already decided to make me tribute.

And slowly but surely, I can feel myself becoming numb to it all. It might be a good thing - an advantage - but I just want to be normal... I just want to cry.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ demonswithin hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**This batch was harder than the last. I'm not too show on their portrayals. On that note, I should remind everyone that this is merely what I gather from their forms. I can't always guarantee that I will definitely portray them the way the submitter sees them.**

**The official alliances are updated. But, here they are: Careers, Dorian, Cosmo, Quilow, Draconis, Merona+Ancyra, Kai+Josiah+Morgan, Britannia+Anastasia, Kalle+Athalie, Seth+Amery+Elena+Uriah & Lumina+Lyndon.**

**Oh! There's a poll on my profile. If you'd be so kind... ;)**


	6. Eye of the Tiger

**Eye of the Tiger by Survivor.**

* * *

**Eye of the Tiger.**

_For the kill with the skills to survive._

* * *

**Claudio Saxon, District Four Male.**

* * *

"Claudio, get up!" Odyessa's voice booms through my door.

I open it swiftly, stepping to the side. "I'm already awake." I reply, watching as she inspects my room over my shoulder.

"You fold your own clothes?" she raises an eyebrow. "We have Avoxes for that. They didn't get their tongues cut out for you to do their job, Claudio."

I totally dismiss her cruel attitude, like I've always done, as she slides past me into the room. She checks everything, a reminder of my Father and his rules. Order and control. I lived by those words. He always said that a clean, organized mind was more efficient than an emotional, scattered one. I guess the lessons stuck, even as I took my tuition at Pier Academy.

"You're my last hope. I'm begging you not to fuck this up for me."

Odyessa falls down onto the bed dramatically, and I wince at the once tidied covers being demolished.

"You have Mirth," I frown, a little confused and uncomfortable. "He done incredibly well."

"Mirth is a megalomaniac with psychopathic tendencies," Odyessa deadpans. "He's not exactly screaming to be the face of my school. No, I need looks, charisma, and drive. I need you to win for me, not yourself, just me."

The weight on my shoulders seem to increase. "Me?"

"You," she nods, sitting back up. "Definitely not Indra. I hate her already, and I barely know the little bitch."

"Indra... she's rather nice."

"No, she's not, so don't defend her," Odyessa stands. I shrink against the wall, feeling surprisingly intimidated by someone much older, smaller, and wiry than myself. I guess her words mount up my fear. Either that, or the constant worry on my mind. "She talked bad about you, you know. To me and Mirth. Bitched about you being passive and weak, not able to vote for her. I'm rather glad you didn't. She'd only be slaughtered first, and I can't have that reputation... again."

I swallow thickly. "She's just upset."

"She's being a brat."

I frown. I don't question her, though. I'd never speak back to someone in Odyessa's power.

"So, we have a deal? You win, and you become the face of Pier Academy, the most successful Academy in District Four to ever have existed."

"Yeah, sure." I smile lightly, but my heart isn't in it. That's just another pressure I don't want nor need.

Odyessa leaves rather proud, and at breakfast - minus Indra, whose left before anyone has seen her - rubs it in Mirth's face. The younger Victor, though, only proceeds to bite back.

Once more, I tick the names off in my head, and recite the promise that I would never kill more than I need to, and never find enjoyment from it. I also add on a promise to do right by Indra, or to simply avoid her. Whichever is easier. When breakfast is over, I rise, bidding goodbye to the mentors.

When I'm in the elevator, though, it all becomes more real.

They believe I didn't deserve this. Even Odyessa has faith in me, whereas my parents do not. I have to prove everyone wrong. I want to prove them wrong. I don't want to be seen as pointless, inept in everything I do. I want to be someone, someone they can be proud of... that I can be truly proud of.

And to do that, I have to kill. I've accepted it, but the thought still buries deep beneath my skin.

What will truly happen to me, to my family, when I do eventually kill?

* * *

**Saraide Thalassa, District One Female.**

* * *

"Jet Rinehart, District One!"

Jet rises in total silence. He flashes a kind smile at everyone - one that nobody really responds - before stepping out of the canteen. When he's gone, Indra scoots along the bench towards me.

I study her eyes and quirked smile. "What do you see in him?" she asks.

The question throws me through a momentary loop. "Skills," I answer, almost sure of where I'm heading with this. I recite the words over and over again. "Jet is my district partner. He deserves some sense of loyalty."

Indra scoffs. "District partner loyalty? I don't believe that exists," she eyes Claudio, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Just remember that, underneath that charm and those chiselled looks, Jet sees you as nothing but a second-class citizen."

It doesn't bother to me. "I know," I answer stiffly. "It does not matter."

Before Indra can say another word, my name is called out. I rise silently, avoiding eye contact with the rest of my alliance. I move through the canteen with my head held high, not looking back. I stride down the hallway and to the right. The attendant offers a gracious smile as she opens the door for me.

I step in, my footsteps echoing around the hollow room. On the wall, the Gamemakers eye me up, studying my every movement.

For a brief moment, I'm transported back to the days that my Father would train me, teaching me the ways of a Career. The constant weapon training. The strict but fair rules. By the age of five, I could already throw a knife with perfect accuracy. One day, he called me his little "soldier".

"Miss Thalassa, you can begin." one of them mentions.

I nod, stepping towards the sword rack. I claim two rapiers for each hand, spinning around and seeing someone whistle in surprise. I jab the handle against the button and the dummies rise, seven in total. I close my eyes briefly - calming all of my senses - before I strike.

I stab my right rapier forward into the gut of one of the dummies. With the other, I twist it over my head, slicing the throat of another. I pull it out and proceed to run it through the third, through the cotton legs of the fourth, into the skull of the fifth, and the ribs of the sixth. On the seventh, I step back, taking a deep breath. In that moment, I see it all, hear the murmurs and feel the prickly heat on the back of my neck. I spin the rapiers around me, together, and jam the pair through the dummy's heart, until I feel them come out the other side.

I step back, breathing hard. "Are you finished, Miss Thalassa?"

My eyes shift to the clock. I still have two minutes. I place the rapiers back, and stand back in the middle of the room, arms behind my back. I stare at the Gamemakers and they stare at me.

One steps out his seat. "Nothing?"

"I believe I'm finished," I offer a polite smile and nod. "I have nothing left to show."

The seconds tick by. Then, the buzzer sounds, and the confused Gamemaker allows me to leave. I stride to the elevator and climb inside.

The whole way up, I can't help but doubt myself. The confusion and confliction and the constant image of Indra and Daira penetrate my brain over and over again, making me doubt the things that I've practised my entire life to do.

As the doors open, Jet is there, smiling dopily. "How did it go, Saraide?"

"Exceptional," I step around, but his persistent attitude makes him follow me. I turn, and he raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Indra said something, didn't she?" he summarises. "She seems the type to be vindictive like that."

For the sake of Jet's emotions, I don't tell the entire truth. "She just summarised the rules of the Hunger Games, and the sake of keeping one's priorities in check."

Jet nods, but there's a hurt glint in his eye. "And she tried to turn you against me, didn't she?"

No point holding it back now. I nod. "Yes."

Before Jet can ask anything else, Carnelian enters the room, smiling just as bright as Jet once did. He pats Jet on the back hard, and offers me a brief hug that I slightly recoil against. Then Amethyst enters, hopeful. The knot in my stomach tightens at the amount of people.

"Excuse me," I politely say, scooting past Jet's robust form.

Only one more day.

It shouldn't be hard. It's never been before.

So why am I now, at this point in time, encouraging myself that I'm good enough to do it, to kill and do what I've been told to do?

* * *

**Quilow Sage, District Seven Female.**

* * *

One by one, everyone leaves for their session. As the room decreases, I finally realise that I'm one of a few loners this year. My eyes find Draconis, but the moment he stares back with those blackened eyes, I look away.

I can't let anyone ruin my concentration. I have to go in, and do what I think I do... what I know I can do... well, what I hope I can do.

No matter how hard I try, I just don't believe in it myself. For some reason, no matter how deep I dig, there's no real confidence there. Opax can lie to me all he wants, whispering that I have decent strength and loyalty and sponsors, when in reality, none of it matters. One false move, and I'm as good as dead before I've even begun to try.

"Lyndon Marrett, District Seven!"

Lyndon rises from his table, completely alone. When he walks by me, he offers one of those shy smiles, one that I just can't return. Still, he's hopeful, and he deserves as much chance as the rest of us. "Good luck." I say. He smiles, before slipping into the hallway.

Minutes pass. My eyes flick from tribute to tribute, learning and digesting as much as I can.

Draconis. He's a loner, dark and mysterious, but he's not that strong. He was beat easily in wrestling.

Elena. Well, her size does her no help. And Kai, well he's strong, but I've seen the complex relationship with his ally, Josiah, even overheard it some words that seems strained. Too many alphas in one alliance.

Then there's the District Eight pair. Sweet and gentle. The boy is the youngest, and whilst he seems pouty and stubborn, deep down, I think he knows that he has little to no chance of survival.

I shake my head. _Stop it, Quilow._

I can't help but imagine their deaths. No, I need to imagine their deaths. If I can witness it - accustom myself to it - then it won't matter. It won't hurt. It won't affect me. I bite my lip until I taste my blood, clench my fists until I feel them vibrate in pain.

"Quilow Sage, District Seven!"

I can't move. I can't move!

Digging deep, I pull myself up, forcing on an expressionless look as I leave the room. If they don't know me, they can't hurt get under my skin. All the way down the hall, I lie to myself, telling myself that it's okay and I can do this, when I know, I just know that I can't.

Behind the door lies my trial.

"Name?"

I stand in the middle of the room, feeling so small. "Quilow Sage."

But my voice is lost to the size of it, just one, tiny voice. Instead, I silently walk to the sickles, pulling one from the rack. It feels heavier than the ones in training, but I don't let it get to me as I punch the button, and a few dummies appear. I swallow thickly, and approach the first one. I swing the sickle with all of my might, jamming it into the side of the stomach. The squelching sound makes me feel sick. I dig in harder, but when I go to pull it out, it feels stuck. In the end, I rip it free, and use the momentum to push it harder into the next.

I repeat the process a few times, using the weight and speed to my advantage. For the first time ever, despite what everyone says, I finally believe that I might have a chance.

I play with a few knots, run a little, and swiftly answer as many poisonous bugs questions as possible. When the timer deafens the room, I let myself smile a little. I didn't do horribly.

"You are free to leave, Miss Sage."

"Thank you." I smile, and hurry to the elevator.

The ride up to my floor is quiet. My thoughts rattle around in my mind, but I try not and let it get to me too much. I'm on a high from my training, so for now, my emotions can scoot.

When the doors open, Lyndon's head pops up from behind the couch.

"Did you do okay?" he asks, voice hopeful.

And then the realisation floods back to me, and any happy emotion is swamped under the feeling that Lyndon is my opponent, my enemy, and his death is meant for my survival.

I lower my head. "I did okay," I answer shortly, partly not wanting to give anything incriminating away. "And you?"

Lyndon's hesitant smile makes me realise that he thinks the same, finally. "Yeah, same."

Lyndon moves back to his seat, and for a brief moment, I close my eyes, and escape away from the pressure that falls on my shoulders. I don't want Lyndon to die. He doesn't deserve it. But neither do I. I've never done anything wrong in my life. I'm not squeaky clean, but I'm not a monster.

But he has to die. And so does Draconis, Elena, Kai, District Eight, Careers... and the more and more I think about it, the more and more I realise that the odds are forever against me, just a single girl.

* * *

**Kai Clematis, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

"Josiah Kirsche, District Ten!"

I look up as Josiah rises, jaw clenched. "Good luck," I smile, giving him a quick handshake. "I'm sure you'll murder it. No pun intended."

Josiah's jaw releases, and he smiles wryly. "Yeah, if only it wasn't intended."

He leaves pretty swiftly, a storm amongst the small band of tributes left. In all honesty, looking around the room, I can see that Josiah is probably the biggest threat, besides me, of course, and the creepy boy from Twelve. That's a good thing. Of course it is. A good thing for the alliance, but not for me...

I rest my elbows on the table, looking up at the clock. The hand ticks by slowly, and my mind slows down until the next name is shouted.

"Merona Rosales, District Ten!"

The little, dark-haired girl seems high-strung. She keeps her head held high, though, and struts out of the canteen with an air of confidence. Admittedly, it's a shock, but sadly, I don't give her a day. Her alliance doesn't help her cause, either. It's hard to admit - even harder to swallow - but the truth isn't always pretty.

"Hey, Kai," Elena turns around in her seat. I look up, only really remembering that Elena still hasn't gone. "Did you want some company?"

I raise a hand and wave her away. "No thanks, Elle," I smile. "I need some time for peace, to focus."

"I'm sure you'll do great," Elena grins. "I mean, you got that great place on the board!"

The room tenses at that. It's suddenly like everyone is staring at me, boring their eyes into the back of my skull. I shrug it off, though. "Yeah. I guess it wasn't bad."

"Kai Clematis, District Eleven!"

"Hate to run," I laugh lightly, standing up. Elena suddenly seems so small on her own. I gently graze my hand over her shoulder as I walk by. "Good luck, Elle."

Down the hallway and to the right, I open the door by myself, refusing the slave service provided for me. Inside the hollow room, remnants of previous sessions lay about, particularly the shredded red feathers on the floor. I gulp as I take to the centre, state my name, before walking off for my weapon.

When I take the harpoon, I remember the trainer's words. It only seems to encourage me though.

I take the weapon and line it up for throwing. I hit the button, and as the dummy shoots up from the ground below, I toss the weapon with all of my strength. It twists and turns through the air, before landing in the dummy's cotton thigh. I move to grab it, yanking it free. I repeat the process, throwing it harder and harder each time.

My lungs burn by the seventh throw. I grit my teeth, feeling the sweat on my forehead.

_Damn it! Land in the middle!_

I toss it again. The harpoon twirls, before missing entirely. As it clatters to the floor, I growl in frustration, clenching my fists. That's when I see the wrestling mat over the dummy's shoulder. I approach it quickly, checking the clock out the corner of my eye.

I only have a minute yet. I have to hurry!

"Come here!" I call for the trainer, who hurriedly throws the visor over his face.

I flex my fingers, sort out my stance, and before the trainer can do the same, I grapple his shoulders. He's completely off-guard and I make a quick attempt to try and sweep at his legs. Of course, he's a professional, and easily dodges.

And as quick as I thought I had it, I don't. He flicks me off like a pesky fly, grabs my wrist and elbow, and proceeds to throw me into an arrest lock. I howl - both from surprise and pain - falling down onto my knee.

The bell chimes. "You're free to leave, Mr Clematis."

I angrily shove the trainer off of me, sorting myself out as I walk to the elevator. My entire body burns from failure, particularly my cheeks. I look away as the doors close and the elevator zooms up. It feels like ages before they open again.

Kane is there almost instantly, and I groan inwardly.

"What's up, Buttercup?" he teases, tilting his head in a playful manner.

"Not now," I reply, brushing past him.

Kane never lets it go though. "Hey, hold up! We have to discuss about this!"

I spin around at my bedroom door. "Not now." I warn, before slamming it into his face.

For a brief moment, I feel guilty for my treatment of him - a Victor, of course - but that's easily overwhelmed by the bitter reminder that Josiah is better than me, a bigger threat, and if I can't beat him or the Careers, then I'm as good as dead.

* * *

**Draconis Cor, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

"Draconis Cor, District Twelve!"

"There's no need to shout," I look up from the table at the attendant, ringlets of brown hair covering her face. "I'm the only boy left. I'm sitting right here."

"If you can call yourself that, with that hair." Ana comments, but I ignore her completely, like most of the time.

With her scrunched nose and pursed lips, she urges me to follow her. I do it without question, mainly so I can hurry up and get away from Ana, who only seems to annoy me every time she takes a breath.

The attendant opens the door for me. I raise an eyebrow, and step in.

"Mr Cor, please proceed."

I don't know who said that, but I walk straight towards a spare station, one that contains an assortment of items. I dig through the crap, pulling forth the needed ingredients. From behind, I'm sure they're wondering what I'm doing, but it's none of their business until I actually show them.

Taking my load, I sit down in the middle of the room, and close my eyes.

I try and remember Kurt's teachings of it, and how it'd be a good way to make an escape from a risque break-in.

Taking an empty bottle, I pour the gasoline in with a funnel, making sure to not make a flame trail to me. I stuff the pieces of flint into the neck, and wind it up with duct tape, just to make sure that it's tight enough. Using the matches, I strike it against a nearby rock, and ignite the tip of the flint.

The Gamemakers stir behind me.

I rise silently, pressing the button for the dummies. Twelve pop up, scattered, but that's the point.

With a quick check-over, I toss the explosive drink into the crowd of lifeless creatures. Someone shrieks in the distance. I smile briefly as it smashes in the middle, and the explosive erupts in a glorious ribbon of fire that quickly devours the entire crowd.

"Quick, get an extinguisher!"

"There's a fire! Ring the bell!"

The dummies all burn to the ground.

I turn back to the Gamemakers, slightly confused. They wanted me to show my skills, didn't they? My skills are simply different than stabbing and running and stabbing and climbing. I wait and watch as the attendants put out my fire before it even starts, but my message is clear.

I stare up at the worried Gamemakers. "Am I done?" I ask.

"Leave!" someone shouts.

"Pleasure." I mutter, moving to the elevator rather quickly. How hypocritical of them to judge me for that. Oh no, they don't want me to burn them, but it's fantastic if I can do that to kids...

The doors open. Crispin nor Saskia are anywhere to be seen. I wait around for a few moments - partially out of wanting to see Crispin's reactions and check on Saskia's mental health - before resigning myself to the couch. Seconds later, Crispin emerges.

"I got a call..."

I smirk, though he doesn't see it. "Did you? Anyone important?"

"You tried to set the Gamemakers on fire...?"

I shrug. "No. The dummies. But I guess they're the same thing, huh? It was to show my efficiency at creating man-made weapons. They should be more thankful for the creativity." I grumble, sinking into the seat.

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Well done."

That takes me by surprise. Not that I care, or anything. I look up, seeing Crispin's weathered smile. "What for?"

"For... not letting them change you."

Oh. I shrug again, ignoring the blossom of hope in my chest. "Well, it's not like four days is going to change me, is it?"

And I hope the rest of it doesn't. I'm pretty accustomed to my life of expecting the worst. It gives me for the advantage, and I need that. No, I want that, because I haven't given up entirely yet.

* * *

**Daira Lamotte, District Two Female.**

* * *

Dorian doesn't move from the couch, even as I sit down. At first, it's a welcome surprise, but then the surprise turns into confusion, and before I know it, I'm sitting next to him.

"Are you ignoring me?" I narrow my eyes, staring at him.

He doesn't flinch.

"Dorian," I hiss. "Dorian, listen to me!"

He turns slowly, a deflated look on his face. "Why? So you can trash-talk me, and treat me like dirt, when I only ever do to protect you?"

I'd have to lie to myself if I ever said that Dorian's affection wasn't wanted. The way he's treated me, sure, as I grew up it became weird and incestuous-looking and generally skin-crawling, but it's always made me feel special, and wanted, and desired.

He doesn't get to choose when to stop that.

"Well," I say, gathering my bearings. "...I still think you're an idiot for volunteering alongside me. That doesn't change. And you're still not joining the alliance, no matter what. But I don't want to go in there hating each other." I admit, half-truthfully.

His eyes light up in that weird way when I speak to him sometimes. "You mean it?"

"Of course," I continue. "I don't want you to hate me, and I don't hate you. But distance is good, okay? It's... easier."

I want him to believe that I'll miss him, because a part of me will. In my childhood mind, he'll forever be the knight to my princess, but that part of me changed a lot time ago. And Dorian's been clinging to it desperately ever since. Sometimes, I just like to humor him with the prospect of it happening again, if only for my own purposes.

Dorian strokes my cheek. I try my best not to flinch, but rather lean into the touch. "I could never hate you." he whispers.

"Yeah," I trail off. "Can I have a glass of water?"

He smiles brightly, practically skipping to the kitchen like a lovesick puppy. When he comes back, he sits just a little too close for comfort.

"I... I want you to do something for me." I admit, taking the glass kindly.

He's quick to nod. "Anything."

"Just... you know how, when we were kids, you were really great with your archery? And I told you that you could become a professional hunter, or something?"

He nods slowly, never quitting with the predatory smile. "Yeah?"

"Is that your chosen weapon, by any chance?" I push further. The coolness of the glass makes my fingers wet, and if he wouldn't tell me, I'll probably end up running them on his face for an answer.

He nods again, utterly confused.

I take a deep breath, and pursue the answer. "I want you to watch over us in the arena... Jet... he... he's rather physical to work with, if I'm honest," I tone my voice just right, and his eyes burn with fury. "When the time is right, I want you to assassinate him."

Dorian doesn't even question it. "Sure."

I graze my fingers over his cheek lightly. "Thank you, Big Bro."

I walk away from him, making him want more. For this to work, he needs to die, and the idiot hasn't even realised that he's playing into my hand. Assassinate Jet, and someone will kill him, like Saraide or Claudio. It's taking out two birds with one stone.

My Victory will not be clouded by my brother being a martyr to my cause. He's to die normally, and I'll avenge his death, claim the title, and be known as "The Capitol's Sweetheart". My heartbreak will garner more sponsors, too.

I guess him volunteering will be a useful thing. I just have to make sure he doesn't stray from course, otherwise, like the lovesick puppy he is, I'll have to ensure he's put down another way.

Nobody will get in the way of me becoming Victor. Not even my own, deluded, twisted brother.

* * *

**Ancyra Chepstow, District Three Female.**

* * *

"Cosmo refuses to come out," Pixel sighs, sitting on the edge of the couch and folding her notepad into her lap. "He seems really down. I don't think the sessions went well, and the score won't make him much better."

_I helped put him there_, I can't help but think. I told him no. I made him lonely. I refused his help, only to claim it from someone else. For the first time, I put myself over someone else. It makes me sick to my stomach that I'll be forced to do it time and time again, in order to live.

Arjan sighs. "He'll be fine."

He always says that. But Cosmo won't, and neither will I. Someone will die. We both could. The likelihood is astounding.

My ears ring as the television bursts to life. The lights overhead fade, and the ghostly white illuminates the couches. My throat constricts at the sight of Hermes Abbatone, decked out in a blood red suit. His sharp eyes stare at the screen, as if looking through my soul.

I tune out his words, focused on the drilling sound in my mind.

_I just want to go home. To the small gardens that lined the street. The odd bluebell that would bloom in Spring. _

_I want to see my family._

_I want to make things right. _

The first face appears, Jet Rinehart. He looks friendly, but my mind screams that he's a trained murderer. I swallow thickly and stare at the picture, seeing the bright _9 _appear underneath, twirling on the spot. It's a proud score. One that no-one else - but a Career - will ever own.

Saraide Thalassa, with her dark skin and piercing eyes. She looks majestic. And her _10 _does nothing but prove that point. Beautiful and deadly.

Dorian Lamotte is next. His eyes are dark and empty. His _9_, though, proves my theory; he's a monster.

I breathe steadily when Daira Lamotte appears, so small and young compared to her allies. _Think of the good stuff, _I remind myself. _Think of the light at the end of the tunnel. _Daira, however, proves to be impressive, claiming a _10. _

"I didn't expect that," Pixel whispers. "She's the lowest Career on the betting poll."

Arjan nods stiffly. "Not anymore."

Then Cosmo appears, and my breath hitches in my throat. Pixel leans forward, expectant. Arjan is still stiff by my side. And when Cosmo's score turns out to be a _5_, I don't think anyone remembers to breathe.

Pixel sighs. "I'll let him know." With that, she leaves swiftly.

Arjan doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. I look back at the screen, my picture dancing in the middle. Hermes' says my name. It sounds foreign, as if it isn't real. Then, a _4 _appears, and the tears build up on my eyes.

Arjan sighs. "Ancyra..."

I blink them away and force a smile. "...I'm okay." I whisper, lying through my teeth.

Claudio Saxon, well-built and sculpted, claims a _10 _too. His district partner, Indra Marella, claims a _9_. Not a single Career does badly. They're all a threat.

But my mind can only replay the moment over and over again. The wide eyes looking down at me. The weak score. The fear that swallowed my chest whole.

I want to find the light at the end of the tunnel, but I fear there isn't one. Not this time.

* * *

**Lumina Moseley, District Five Female.**

* * *

Everyone has done pretty well.

I'd bite my nails if I could, but then my stylist would only have a heart attack.

I look over at Uriah, whose posture is ramrod straight, eyes fixated on the screen. He doesn't dare move an inch. I feel for him, I really do. He's so introverted, so withdrawn, that the slightest thing seems to make him have a panic attack. When his picture appears, he pales considerably.

"Good luck, Uriah," I smile over at him through the muted light. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Scores don't matter. They're numbers, like math, and that's not important either."

He nods stiffly. "Thank you, Lumina."

But then his _5 _appears, and he looks ready to pass out.

"Did you do everything that you could?" Solar questions him. "Survival? Weapons? Fitness?"

Uriah seems shocked for a moment, before he nods. "Yes." he answers meekly.

I smile lightly. "Then don't worry! If you did everything you could, then there's no need to panic over it."

I guess that last bit is more for my own sake than his. I plaster on a smile, before turning back as Uriah's face morphs into mine. I narrow my eyes; they've definitely edited my picture. My hair looks lighter, almost brown. I bet it was that damn stylist. Underneath the fake picture, though, is a matching _5_, but I don't let it depress me.

I digest the words. "I thought so."

"And did you try everything?"

Unlike Uriah, I shrug. "Maybe. Probably. I'm not sure, really, now that I think about it. They were just staring at me, and it kinda put me off. But it doesn't matter."

Nebula enters the room at the mention of that, poking her head around the hallway. "I think they do, sweetie. Numbers are important. Ask Solar."

Solar turns stiffly. Under the light, his glasses reflect back Hermes' smile at me. I cringe a little, trying to look anywhere but that, but he seems pressed on eye contact. "They do matter, Lumina," he answers. "A number can be the difference between a sponsor backing you or not. It can be the difference between life and death."

"I get that, I do, but the added stress a day before isn't healthy." I frown. I want to use Uriah as an example, looking like a kicked puppy over Solar's shoulder, but that feels cruel.

Solar just nods. "I understand that."

He doesn't mention anything else. Abruptly, he turns back to the screen, and I realise that we've missed Districts Six and Seven. Or, more importantly, Lyndon. Somewhere, I feel as if I'm being judged for that. I scan the board at the bottom, going through the pictures and faces.

Morgan with his heap of dark hair got a _6_. His district partner, Britannia, with her _4_.

Then I see Lyndon. My lips quirk into a smile at his _6_, bold and bright and completely showing everyone else up. Quilow matches that with her own _6_ and District Seven is looking sharp. A part of me feels claustrophobic over that, but I refuse to let that put me down. The moment I feel down, that's when everything falls apart... and just not yet.

Little Seth Patreli from District Eight appears, and he only coins a _5_. Wow, I matched him?

Amery Caulan does the same. _5_.

Damn. I obviously didn't impress them that much. I sink back into my seat, staring at the screen and the multitude of numbers. Everyone is simply average. Nothing special - apart from the Careers - but nothing worthless. Either everyone is doing well, or the playing field is far more even than anyone imagined.

I lean forward, still smiling. "See? Numbers don't matter. That six isn't going to stop a knife now, is it?" I turn to Uriah, feeling my chest grow tighter and tighter, but choosing to push it all down in the name of control. "Uriah, don't stress out. There's plenty of time for that. For now, relax, and enjoy what we have whilst we have it."

Because it might not be for that long.

* * *

**Josiah Kirsche, District Ten Male.**

* * *

It's not that long now.

I prop my elbows on my knees, leaning upwards. In my head, I weigh my options and opponents. With all of the Careers getting high scores - and apparently not a single weak link - then that doesn't bode well for us. They'll be hard to take down. Everyone else, though, shouldn't be difficult. It's sad, but true.

Including Merona.

I snap back at the screen as Kalle Ramsey appears. I wanted him in our alliance, but he's with his district partner. I can't risk her when she shows no sign of physically being decent with anything, sadly. My stomach twinges when I see his _7_, apparently proving my suspicions: I should've recruited him first.

His district partner, Athalie, is next with cascading curls. Her _5_, however, doesn't make her seem so hot. Another suspicion proven.

"Merona, calm down," Macaulay's voice drifts between the breaks. "You'll end up passing out."

"I told you so." I mumble. Merona never listens - like with the chariots, and cooling down. She's placing too much pressure on her shoulder. She has wrinkles at her age from the stress.

My image is next. I straighten my shoulders, staring hard at the screen. I did everything I had to. I tore it all apart. I even fashioned a knife out of simple materials, and I doubt they expected that. If anything, I've proven that I'm capable.

_8._

My heart leaps in my chest. I grin, fighting back the urge to scream and shout. I did it!

"Well done, Joey." Oxford smiles warmly from the other side of the couch.

"Thanks," I breathe, before turning my attention to Merona. Her eyes are weary, but the simple smile on her face makes up for it. In this state, she reminds me of Israel when he has his moments. I nod politely. "Did you want me to get you some water?"

Merona shakes her head, pulling away from Macaulay's overbearing hands. Her picture is next on the board. Underneath, twirling around, is her _5_. Seems to be a common number tonight.

There's a moment of silence. "That's not bad," Macaulay is quick to say. "A lot of people are doing the same... don't feel bad or anything."

I can practically see the wool that Macaulay is trying to wrap her in. Merona isn't stupid, even I know that. She knows her chances are almost nothing, but she isn't whining about it like most. She's trying. I admire that in her, even if it makes her pig-headed and unbearable sometimes.

Kai is next.

_You better do well, _I cross my fingers. _Don't do me wrong. I need you to do well, to get that score. You're my ticket home, Kai, don't fuck it up._

He doesn't, thankfully. Kai's _7 _is bright and bold, spinning under his sharp picture. My heart soars in my chest. With Morgan and Kai proving their worth, then it's even better for me. It's bad to admit, but I wanted them to do well so it'll benefit me more. I didn't want friends; I wanted allies, and strong ones at that.

I don't really need to see the rest. Maybe I'm ignorant, but it's truthful. I just don't feel like I have to worry about them. Not yet, anyway. Elena manages a _4_, which I can't help but pity. The creepy boy, Draconis, claims a _6 _which surprises me - but I nod out of respect, and add his name to the list - whilst the unexpected volunteer pulls herself a _5_, too.

I rise from my seat, collecting my drink. "I'll see you in the morning."

Oxford stops me, though, catching my spare wrist. "Don't you want to discuss more strategy?"

I take a glance at Merona - still shocked and pale - and Macaulay - motherly and overbearing - before smiling lightly. "Nah, you're okay. You have bigger issues to deal with, and I pretty much have it covered," I turn and walk away. "Night, Oxford."

Truthfully, I do have it covered. I know what I have to do, and what's needed of me. And I'll do it. I hate it, hate the entire thought and actions behind it, but I'll do it. Anything to just go home.

* * *

**Seth Patreli, District Eight Male.**

* * *

Amery twirls her hair as she stares at me.

"What?" I grumble, shrinking under her watch. She looks at me as if I'm fragile, and I don't like it. It brings up too many emotions and questions.

She smiles softly. "Nothing," she shrugs, refusing to look away. "I'm proud of you, you know. That score is really good, and you don't look the slightest impressed with it."

"It wasn't good, it was barely average," I reply, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice. That was my only chance to show the sponsors that I'm capable, and as far as I'm concerned, I basically failed. "I wanted... I wanted to do better than that."

Her smile turns sad, which doesn't make it any better. "You can't be the best, Seth. It's better than nothing."

"It'd probably be better." I can't help but bite back.

Amery sighs. "You don't mean that."

Maybe I don't mean it. But the truth is that I'm dead. I'm already dead. I don't want to admit it - I want to lie to myself and say that I have a chance, that I can do it - but the history lies ahead of me, clear as day. Not that many younger tributes win, and definitely not against the likes of Careers and robust teenagers from the farm.

Still, I suppose I should lighten up. We only have one more day to go, after all.

I rise silently, which seems to confuse Amery. She rises too, but I quickly pause. "You don't need to follow me," I smile dryly. Before, I would've loved to have her depend on me, but the feeling is easily overwhelmed by inadequacy. "I'm fine on my own."

"No-one is fine on their own. Silence will only speak what your mind wants to hide, and it's always better to hide it."

For a moment there, it's like she's speaking more to herself than me. I let it slide, though, and shrug. "Yeah, well, I want the silence. And no, it's not about puberty," I quickly shoot, which makes her giggle. "I just... need some air."

I press the button on the elevator. Amery watches with a smile as I enter, waving goodbye as the doors close. It doesn't take long to reach the rooftop. When I do, the wind bites at my cheeks, but the feeling is welcome. I breathe the dirty air as fast as I can, relishing the similarities with District Eight.

I miss home. I miss it more than anything.

But at the same time, I can't say that I want to return. There's a confliction in my chest, one that's pulling me apart. To fight for the right to home, to the good memories and the overwhelmingly bad ones, or to die, when the fear of death does nothing but make my skin crawl.

At least if I'm home, I can fix things. Find out who I am, what I like, what I want to be.

For a brief moment, it all becomes clear.

To fight. To win against the odds.

No, to try. To try with all my might and, if I die, to die knowing that I did all I could. Not for my alliance. Not for Amery. But for me, and me alone.

I hear the elevator open up behind me. I spin around, seeing the small form of Uriah leave, puzzled, before turning right, completely ignoring me. I'm thankful for that. Amery wants to add members, but the fat girl and the nerd doesn't make our chances any better.

I swallow thickly, knowing that she'd berate me for that. But I don't care. Not now, not when I have more important things to worry about, like risking my life for people that will have to die eventually, or risking my life for people I don't even know or life like Amery does.

Amery's right. The silence does nothing but make it worse.

Silently, I enter the elevator and descend back down to Floor Eight, unable to fight away the little voice that reminds me I'm just that.

Little.

* * *

**Britannia Bucker, District Six Female.**

* * *

By the time that Constance can be bothered to see if I'm awake, I already am.

"Get up," she gruffly says, swinging the door open. I bury my head deeper. Not like I could sleep anyway. "Britannia, I said get up."

"And I said go away." I mumble into the pillow.

A cold hand grabs the cover from my head, yanking it off. Hot sun hits my face and I squint, rolling over for the comfort of sleep, or at least quiet. Constance makes it her mission to stop me, though. For a brief moment, she walks away, before I hear the sound of sloshing water.

I throw myself up, just in time to see her hand clasping a glass of, no doubt, freezing cold water.

"I said I'm up," I grumble, sitting back down. "Is there any chance that I can get a different stylist? Surely being a tribute gives me some sort of power?"

"I'm not in the mood for your wit this morning." Constance replies.

If only it was just wit. The sad thing is, I'm being completely truthful. I can't stand Pierre, and every second around me seems to make me feel dumber.

I watch as Constance finally leaves with a satisfied smile. I'm so tempted to give her the finger, when Morgan strolls by, dark hair masking his eyes. He turns briefly, before carrying on his way. I roll my eyes and get to work, throwing on clothes and wrapping my hair up in a messy ponytail. By the time I enter the main area, I feel and look slightly human.

And then I see Pierre, and the small remnants of a decent mood seem to flounder.

"I see that you can be bothered to look nice when you want to," he comments with a snarky smile. "I shouldn't have too much work with you then."

"The least time we spend together, the better." I grumble, snatching a bagel from the table. I bite into it as I stare at Pierre, his golden-flecked eyes seemingly racking down my body.

Constance, Aston and Morgan don't say a thing, keeping to themselves.

"Let's get it over with," I comply, heading to the elevator.

Pierre quickly follows. "That's the spirit, cavegirl."

I smile. "Remember, they created fire, and I'd hate to see how flammable that fake tan is."

The elevator shuts. Pierre laughs crudely, before turning to face me. "I hope you die in the bloodbath."

The words go straight over my head. I probably will die in the bloodbath, but it's definitely not going to be for him. "I'm touched once more." I roll my eyes.

"You don't deserve to go any further. I thought I could change you, make you flourish into a seemingly sweet girl, but your attitude is your downfall, and it'll be your death, too."

That strikes a nerve in me. My stomach flips, and my throat tightens, emotions building behind my eyes. Maybe it will be my death. Maybe I'll die in the most ridiculous way possible. Maybe I'll be killed before I can even think. I don't deserve it, though. Nobody deserves to die, not even him. Death is never warranted.

I swallow thickly, attempting to hide any trace that it affected me. "Yeah, well, you better keep your eye on the screen then. I'd hate for you to miss out on witnessing children die."

* * *

**Kalle Ramsey, District Nine Male.**

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I stare around at the small room, remembering the last time I was here, and how my pervert stylist dressed me in a grass skirt that left nothing to imagine.

"What's the plan then? I really liked the grass skirt, but I'm sure other people thought I looked ridiculous." I laugh nervously, sitting down on the seat. Hareta circles me like a predator, smiling that feminine smile.

Hareta hums. "I thought you were... delicious."

"I'd blush, but there's nothing left to be shy about when you've flashed the entire nation of Panem." I laugh again, feeling the heat prick on the back of my neck.

Hareta flashes me the design, a simple black tuxedo with swirling patterns that resemble grain on it. "See? No grass skirt, sadly. Topher forbade me from sexing you up."

"That's a shame. I feel like flashing my ass really sells my personality." I laugh again.

Truthfully, I couldn't care less, but it's time to become serious now. And, if I'm completely honest, bearing my genitals doesn't make me feared, it makes me seem easy-going and good-natured, which is great, but the tributes don't care about that.

Hareta makes short work of the small amount of body hair that's sprouted on me since last time. She lingers on my thigh, but I quickly shrug her away playfully, though Hareta seems to be into the whole tease angle I'm apparently giving her.

"Athalie will be wearing something similar," she hums, checking my measurements rather meticulously. "Petra has her in a pant suit, which despite being fabulous, will make her seem a serious threat."

I smile. "Good for Athalie. I hope she likes it."

"I doubt she will. The suit will devour her whole," she laughs. "But I guess she could try the whole timid routine. Coupled with your sexiness, it'll drive the Capitolites crazy. A serious love story between the hulking man and shy girl."

Athalie is shy. And timid. And a little melodramatic, if I'm being honest to myself. But I like her. She's kind and gentle, and as far as I can tell, she has no ill feelings or darkness. I couldn't be with someone who has ulterior motives, and whilst Athalie is a closed book, I don't suspect anything too worrying. She makes me feel... safe.

Hareta suddenly pauses. "Do you believe Athalie will try and murder you?"

Whoa, where did that come from? The sudden seriousness in the conversation makes me nervous. I lean up, more aware than I was before. "...why do you ask?"

"The shy ones are the most dangerous." she warns.

"I wouldn't turn my back on her. An alliance, in my opinion, is life, until either I die or her," I try and smile to ease the sense of nerves in my chest, but it doesn't help. "I hope she feels similar."

Hareta smirks. "I've seen it happen before. The blindly loyal tribute whose axed in the back by their ally," she leans closer, no doubt half out of wanting to inch the distance between us. "Just be careful. There's only one winner, and you should always put yourself first."

The words don't do any favours with me. I respect honesty, but not complete blasphemy over my ally. I might not have specifically chose Athalie, but she's my ally, nonetheless, and I stick by my decisions.

"Yeah, well, we'll see." I reply icily.

Hareta finishes the rest of the work in silence. When she's done, she smiles softly, a complete turnaround from her previous attitude. I think she's neurotic. "I want you to win. I really, really do."

I nod curtly. "As do I."

But it doesn't change a thing. I'm not going to stab Athalie in the back.

I have more respect for myself and my opponents than to let the Hunger Games - or a perverted, neurotic stylist - sway me otherwise.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ demonswithin hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

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**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

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**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Any scores that surprised you?**_

_**Pick five tributes that you want to survive the bloodbath, and why?**_

_**Bloodbath predictions?**_

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

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**Sorry for the delay! On the plus side, I have the basic plot for the ****entire story laid out now. I've also summed up certain deaths and murderers and that, so, you know, that's fun.**

**This chapter was hard, but anyone who has written a SYOT knows that Private Sessions and Scores absolutely suck.**

**What else... oh! The blog has been updated (finally), with alliances and now scores. And the poll is revealed, so congratulations to our resident trampy sister, Daira, for winning!**


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